Priceless Hands
by ButtermilkCavalry
Summary: Six manuscripts are stolen and our guys have to join an international task force. They don't know that the pieces are precious enough to kill for them. There's always a possibility for angst when I write a story, so rated T to be sure.
1. Spoiling the Broth

Okay guys, I had a tough week, a lot of papers to finish and home remodeling at my grandparents house so I needed to reward myself with a story. So, there you go… I hope the first chapter is not too complicated with all the different manuscripts, but it'll get easier to understand, I promise. If it's too confusing, please tell me, I'm more than willing to explain.

**EDIT:** Obviously I didn't even need to ask **canadianscanget** to take me under her wings again, she did it . Thank you so much for this! **EDIT 2.0**: Thanks also to **mam711 **who checked this for me and then checked it again and checked it until it worked.

Even when he will never know about this, I have to thank Prof. Dr. Müller, who is the best professor for medieval German literature anyone could think of. He's a brilliant genius, talking to us about all that boring stuff like manuscripts and fragments as if it was a mystery novel. The historical facts in this story will be correct as far as I know and I have to thank my professor for that knowledge.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me and I don't get paid.

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><p>Fingers trembled as they slowly followed above the lines of the letters on the delicate parchment. The codex was old, but not as old as expected. The sharp line under the Z was familiar, but it was a miracle to see it on this page.<p>

"Okay, are you satisfied?"

A nod. Nothing more.

"Good. Then may I ask… do you have my money?"

A British accent, pitched. It was a harsh contrast to the answering voice, deep and croaky.

"Uhm… I will pay you, as promised…"

Laughter. Amused, yet somehow enraged at the same time.

"Are you trying to tell me you're not able to pay me?"

"I just don't have it right now. But I will get your money. I just need another week…"

Begging, pleading, beseeching. Answered clearly with another laugh.

"Sorry, but that was not part of the deal. You'll get that back as soon as you can afford it."

A hand, trying to get the tantalizing piece of history. A gun in the darkness. The man didn't even know what hit him. He collapsed to the floor; his eyes were lifeless but still lingering on the precious book in his client's hands. Two little spots of blood had hit the page right over the golden frame of the initial. The new owner of the manuscript wanted to undo it but didn't dare to touch the masterpiece. This seller's life wasn't the first one lost because of the precious manuscript. It was just the first one that left marks. Eyes went back to the Z. Fingers trembled again.

The book was finally found.

And then, just like that, it was lost again.

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><p>The small conference room started to get crowded and Peter glared at Neal. The con man sighed and stood to make room for the grown-ups to talk. He leaned against the nearest window and tried not to attract anyone's attention. He'd never admit it, but he still got nervous when Peter introduced him to new people they were about to work with. Neal sometimes had a hard time convincing Peter to put more trust in him. And yes, maybe the agent had a right to doubt him once in a while, but the cat-and-mouse game between Neal and his handler was something entirely different from the skeptical looks he received from outsiders. As strange as it might seem, Neal always had a very strong desire to prove himself to them. And this time… Hell, this time he would have a lot of people to impress….<p>

Peter hadn't been able to fill him in on any details. This case just appeared from nowhere and the only thing Neal knew was that it had something to do with stolen manuscripts. But whatever it was, it had to be important; Hughes himself sat at the conference table and was talking to a man his own age. Every now and then they were interrupted by people who joined the group. Handshakes, a little bit of small talk. Neal didn't like the way Peter was getting ignored by absolutely everybody in the room. It didn't feel right. This whole thing didn't feel right. Too many cooks spoil the broth.

"Okay, listen up!" The whispers in the room were cut off when Hughes stood. "First of all, thank you all for coming despite the late hour. I know most of you just arrived in New York, so we'll keep this to introductions and overview and start in earnest tomorrow, after everybody's had some rest. Richard, if you would…"

Hughes looked to the man he had been talking with earlier. The man, much smaller but still as slender as Hughes, stood when Hughes sat down. He cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Reese. My name is Richard Green; I work for Interpol and I'm going to be your Liaison Officer for this investigation. As a preamble for our American colleagues: this case started with cooperation between the German BKA and the Swiss fedpol; it was joined shortly afterwards by a team from the Austrian police. Everything was placed under the supervision of Commissar Helene Richter." He nodded toward a blonde woman who sat across from Peter. "Commissar Richter and her team investigated an art theft case in Berlin and Karlsruhe; during their investigation two other pieces were stolen in St. Gallen, which brought the Swiss police in. Our thief struck again in Munich before he went to Austria and stole a manuscript in Vienna. If you have any questions at any time, please don't hesitate to ask."

Neal looked up. He couldn't believe it, nor that he hadn't heard about it earlier.

"Wait a moment, St. Gallen, Karlsruhe and Munich? Are we talking about the German Nibelungen manuscripts?"

Richter's head snapped up in an instant.

_So much for not drawing any attention, Caffrey._

"We are.… And you are…?"

Peter answered before Neal could open his mouth, but not without giving Neal an accusing glare. The rules should have been clear by now. No talking until Peter said so.

"This is Neal Caffrey; he works as a CI, a consultant, under my supervision."

Peter stood and stretched out his hand. "Agent Peter Burke, nice to meet you."

Richter needed a moment to avert her eyes from Neal and return to Peter.

Neal noticed that she shook his partner's hand with a firm grip.

"It's a pleasure, Agent Burke." She gave Neal a nod. "Mr. Caffrey. You were right... Richard, would you mind if I continue?"

The Interpol officer gestured for her to continue and sat down. Richter addressed the room in a louder voice. She was confident, maybe even a little bit arrogant, especially for someone who had no idea of the depth of her case.

"We have six stolen manuscripts: three of them are the German Nibelungen manuscripts. The most important of those was part of a codex, the Codex Sangallensis. Not only was the codex itself stolen, but also two other fragments which were stored in Berlin and Karlsruhe. The first piece that went missing was the fragment in Karlsruhe; three days later the thief came back to the city and stole the Nibelungen manuscript from the regional library. What we didn't know at the time was that he had already taken a second fragment of the Codex Sangallensis in Berlin. The Codex itself was later reported missing in St. Gallen. Only a few hours later our thief took the one remaining Nibelungen manuscript in Munich. The series of thefts came to an end with one of the six Parcival fragments from the National Library in Vienna."

Neal thought about that for a moment, but he couldn't see the link between the Nibelungen manuscripts and the Parcival fragment. Stealing one of the pieces was one thing. The last time a Nibelungen fragment was sold, it brought almost seven million dollars. All the manuscripts together would be worth a fortune. But stealing another medieval epic… not even the whole piece but only one fragment, and that from a national library, especially the one in Vienna, located next to the residence of the country's president. The thief had to have known that the police had been after him and also that the National Library was a dangerous place to go in his position but he went there anyway. Whoever was responsible for this crime had to be either really reckless or really stupid.

"We don't have much. A security camera in St. Gallen caught our thief and we were able to identify him on a recording from the airport in Vienna. He went to New York under the name Thomas Bishop. No records of the name, and the facial recognition system didn't bring up any matches from any of the major databases. The only thing we know for sure is that Bishop arrived in New York three weeks ago, the day after the Library heist in Vienna."

Neal couldn't help but snicker, "Three weeks ago? You have any idea what could have happened in three weeks?"

Richter's eyes were cold now.

"Yes, I'm very aware of that, but I don't see how this can be considered funny!"

Neal bit his tongue and Peter jumped in, desperately trying to save the situation.

"What my partner is trying to say is that we..."

"Partner?" The undertone in Richter's voice made Neal's stomach clench.

The smirk that suddenly appeared on her lips made it even worse. "Excuse me, Agent Burke, I must have gotten you wrong before… I thought this man was a consultant, as in criminal with inside knowledge?"

Neal saw Peter's jaw clench.

"Technically he is, but…"

Richter interrupted him a second time. This wasn't good. Way too many cooks for only one broth…

"Then I don't even know why he's here. As far as I'm concerned we don't need his _expertise_ at this point in our investigation."

Peter scowled at her. From the corner of his eye Neal saw Hughes straightening up in his chair. Both Diana and Jones, right next to Peter, frowned and Neal knew that this wasn't going to end well. Before Peter could say anything else, Neal walked towards the door.

"You're right, Commissar Richter; there's no reason why I should be here. Peter, I'm sure you'll fill me in on everything tomorrow. If you need me, call."

"Neal…"

Peter had this rare ability to make names sound like an apology.

"It's okay, Peter."

Before Neal left the room he turned around to Richter one last time.

"Oh, and Commissar… Six manuscripts within a week, various locations, some of them under tight surveillance, and he got the manuscripts out with a near perfect getaway? This guy is…"

Richter interrupted him, obviously annoyed. The woman seemed to have a problem with other people finishing their sentences.

"Yes, we know he's good, Mr. Caffrey; you don't have to tell us. He's the best I've ever seen."

Neal looked over to Peter, who returned his smile. Neal knew exactly what Peter was thinking, because he was thinking the same thing. _She hasn't heard of Neal Caffrey yet..._

"No, what I'm saying is… nobody is that good. Nobody."

Now it was the Interpol officer who raised his voice.

"So he had a partner? Is that what you're implying?"

It was as if Peter caught Neal's thoughts and spoke them out loud, because he chimed in before Neal could answer himself.

"Not just one."

Neal nodded.

"Three... at least."


	2. Associates

Thank you all for feedback and reviews. Just a short chapter because it's likely that I won't be able to write more over the weekend. Enjoy!

And thanks **x . luiole** to who offered to look out for plot holes. **EDIT**: And a huge thank you to **canadianscanget**, who offered to help me out again. I can't even begin to tell you how much I appreciate it. AND EDIT AGAIN: Thanks as well to **mam711** who offered to double-check the story.

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><p>"Agent Burke, can I talk to you for a minute?"<p>

As everybody started to leave the room, Peter had begun to hope that he would get home early enough to have a late dinner with El. Instead, it was going to be detention with Richter. Great.

"Sure."

The German commissar fumbled with the files in front of her until the room was empty except for her and Peter. Jones had given his boss a questioning look before leaving the room, but Peter didn't want to exacerbate the situation. It was probably just staking out positions. Richter seemed to be more nervous than him. She was struggling to start the conversation.

"Uhm, I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot. It's just… uh, I know how this usually works; whenever the FBI gets involved, you want to run the show, no matter what… I know that this is your city—you have the contacts, you know where to start. I'm more than willing to follow your lead as long as I think you're taking the right steps, but… I don't want to play games here, Burke."

"Peter… Please, call me Peter. It looks like we'll be working together for a while, so we should at least drop the formalities, okay?"

"Okay, Peter. It's Helene."

They shook hands in agreement. Peter was relieved to see that Richter really was trying to make this work.

"Look, the most important thing is to catch the thieves. I get it, it's your case; I won't stand in your way. But you too have to stop standing in my team's way if you want the best results."

She lifted her eyebrows and gave him a smirk.

"And by _'your team'_ you mean that CI of yours, right?"

Maybe there was a chance that Peter could like her after all. She was fast.

"Not exclusively him, but yes. Neal's good, Helene; I mean, _really_ good. He has a lot of great ideas and he really tries to make himself useful. If you make him a bench-warmer he might get bored. And believe me, the last thing we need right now is a bored Neal Caffrey."

Helene bit her lip and remained silent. Peter saw that this wasn't easy for her and he could understand that.

"Can I trust him?"

The question was upfront. It almost made Peter stumble over his thoughts. Trusting Neal—not the easiest of concepts. When he recalled the beginning of his partnership with Neal: having trust issues would have been an understatement. Even now, Peter didn't dare let Neal out of his sight for long, but still… calling Neal's methods into question was Peter's business, not anybody else's.

"I'm not asking you to trust him; I'm asking you to trust me."

Richter laughed.

"Hah, I guess I can do that. You're a legend, Peter Burke, not only in New York."

Peter flushed slightly—he had never been good in taking compliments; they made him feel uncomfortable.

"S'that so, huh?"

"Ryan Wilkes… He was the main suspect in a gallery theft in Berlin. I worked the case but we never got enough to arrest him. He gave me a hell of a headache. I was impressed when I heard you caught him."

Peter shuddered when he thought about how much could have gone wrong during that case, mostly because Agent Rice hadn't been able to see beyond her own nose. At first Richter had reminded Peter a little bit of Rice, but now it looked as though his first impression hadn't been the best. Richter knew what she wanted, but she wasn't blinded by her own ego.

"I couldn't have caught Wilkes without Neal, you know."

When Helene snorted, Peter knew he had made his point. But the way she started to twiddle her pen made him nervous.

"There's something you're not telling me…"

She looked up, obviously surprised.

"Ah, you start to smell secrets when you're working with a con artist."

He gave her an encouraging smile and it seemed to work, because she returned it without hesitation.

"Right, I forgot… Actually, it's about what Caffrey said."

"That Bishop isn't working alone?"

"Exactly… Before the Nibelungen manuscript was stolen I had a lead on a case I worked a few years ago, a museum heist. Our suspect from then was caught about a month ago on a security tape in Berlin, just a few days before the manuscripts went missing. At first I thought the cases were connected, but when we got the footage from St. Gallen and I saw Bishop, I dropped the old case. But when I think about Caffrey's theory… Maybe I should have followed the lead. Maybe there is a connection."

Peter frowned.

"Why didn't you say something before?"

"Because I know from my suspect's case file that your consultant is a former associate of hers."

Lord Almighty, had Neal been involved in absolutely every crime, regardless of which side of the ocean it had been committed?

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes… Susan Doyle."

Richter went through the folders in front of her and when she found the right one, she handed it over to Peter. He couldn't believe his eyes. And he had been naïve enough to consider this case complicated an hour ago.… He stood, closed the folder and put on his jacket. Helene looked up at him, obviously surprised.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. And you should do the same. Get some sleep; it's probably going to be the last time for a while."

Helene frowned and took the folder again. She opened it, took out the picture of a young woman and fiddled with it while she talked.

"You know her, right?"

"I do, but not as Susan Doyle."

"And you think, she was involved?"

Peter wasn't sure what to think.

"I don't know. But if she is, it will make things more complicated."

Peter grabbed his stuff and moved toward the door. "See you tomorrow, Helene."

He didn't even listen to her answer, but took out his phone. He dialed Neal's number and cursed under his breath when he only reached the mailbox.

"Damn it, Neal, call me back; it's important. We need to talk."

When he hung up the phone Peter was surprised to find Jones sitting at his desk. The other agent had apparently decided to wait for him.

"Peter, everything all right? What did she want from you?"

"Well, apparently we have another suspect. And it's one of Neal's friends."

Jones frowned when he stood to leave the office with Peter.

"Somebody we know?"

Peter huffed.

"Damn right we do... It's Alex Hunter."


	3. History

Finally, I have the next chapter for you. Thanks to **CCG** – who is the best teammate I could get to pass the ball – and to **mam711** who does a great job finding my mistakes. If you find something wrong nonetheless, it's entirely my fault... And of course thank **you** for the feedback and the reviews. Okay, are you ready for some history? Enjoy...

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><p><em>Full many a wonder is told us in stories old,<br>of heroes worthy of praise, of hardships dire,  
>of joy and feasting, of weeping and of wailing;<br>of the fighting of bold warriors, now ye may hear wonders told._

– Opening verses of the Nibelungenlied

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><p>Mozzie noticed that Neal was running out of wine. Only six bottles left. That was always a bad sign. No wine usually meant a lot of work. Mozzie patiently waited until Neal had filled both their glasses. He sat down next to his friend and nodded. Neal smiled, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm. Mozzie sighed; this could be a very long night...<p>

"The whole thing started in 1768. An abbot, Beda, was not only… well, you could say a 'true believer' but also a scholar. He put a great deal of effort into obtaining and securing valuable medieval manuscripts. He probably couldn't stand the thought of Catholic writings falling into the wrong hands – namely Protestant hands. He had numerous manuscripts brought to the library of St. Gall, one of them the famous Codex Sangallensis. Without doubt it is one of the most valuable manuscripts in the German language, the largest and oldest collection of medieval German epics. Hell, it's priceless and Beda was well aware of that. It was a smart move on his part to secure the Codex.

"At the same time, Johann Jakob Bodmer, an academic interested in German manuscripts – especially in the Nibelungen – was trying to get his hand on the Codex. He was devastated when he found out Abbot Beda had obtained it. He spent more than a year trying to convince the Abbot to loan the Codex to him. The Abbot sent it from St. Gall to Zurich via the local postal service."

"Postal Service?" Mozzie couldn't help the interjection. "You mean like...?"

"Yep. Man, if you tried to send something that valuable via common postal service today, they'd straitjacket you… Anyway, Bodmer didn't have the book for long, but long enough to describe that both secular and religious writings were part of the Codex. Now after exactly a decade, Bodmer wants to borrow the book again to copy the Nibelungen: part of the Codex Sangallensis. The Abbot Beda immediately says 'No,' and explains, in a letter to Bodmer, how the 'foolish balderdash' about Saint Mary could be 'held against the Catholic religion.' Bodmer begged...

"You mean he paid the good Abbot."

"Likely; we're talking about the Catholic Church in the 18th century, right? Anyway, Bodmer is allowed to use the Codex for his studies again, mainly to copy the Nibelungen part of it. But, and here's what's interesting, everything he writes about this time is all secular, absolutely nothing religious. Modern day philologists assume Abbot Beda had the apocryphal parts removed."

"I never got that... I mean, Apocrypha were part of the Bible once and then the Vatican says they're not canonical and that makes them bad? What's so bad about the apocryphal texts?"

Neal shrugged. "Religion and politics, Mozzie, the two things you're not supposed to discuss. And I have no idea why parts of the Bible are considered to be parts of the Bible by one religion and not another. Nor do I want to consider why Jesus showing signs of humanity would cause such furor with the Vatican and result in the destruction of priceless manuscripts and masterpieces."

Mozzie rolled his eyes. He could understand Neal perfectly fine. The Vatican had destroyed so many pieces of art throughout the centuries that he felt the Vatican Museums should be forbidden to be in possession of even a single masterpiece.

"So, what did Beda do with the apocryphal parts of the Codex? Did he destroy them?"

Neal started to lower his voice. Mozzie knew that voice; he used it himself when he started to talk about secrets and conspiracies. Neal always laughed at him for doing it; now obviously the German Codex had changed Neal's tune to match Mozzie's own.

"Beda hid the Apocrypha. They were forgotten and lost in the library of St. Gall. For more than a century nobody knew about any parts involving Mary or Jesus or God Himself as a part of the Codex Sangallensis, and the Codex was known only as the oldest secular codex in the German language."

"But it didn't stay that way?"

Neal smiled at Mozzie. The whole manuscript part started to get interesting at this point.

"No, it didn't. They found an interesting piece in the estate of Friedrich Heinrich von der Hagen; he was the first professor of German philology. The piece was a poem, a short epic about the Assumption of Mary. After von der Hagen's death it was treated as a small fragment, without significance, until the Codex Sangallensis was restored and they found there was a piece missing. The only fragment that fit – same size, same damages, hell, even the same wormholes – was von der Hagen's piece. Turns out Professor von der Hagen had visited the Abbey of St. Gall at the beginning of the 19th century, obviously for more than just 'research'. They found out about the fragment's origin and von der Hagen's reputation was gone."

"Over a worm-eaten piece of paper?" Mozzie sounded incredulous.

"Well it's hardly just that!" Neal scowled at Mozzie. "But yeah. I don't see how stealing a fragment of the Codex at St. Gall would make him any less a scholar. A thief, yes, but so what? He taught for years without anyone questioning his authority on German comparative and historical literary studies."

"Neal, should I be asking at this point what her name was for you to be so interested in the authenticity, original form, and meaning of written records?"

Neal's dirty look thoroughly suggested he was not in a mood for light banter on the subject at hand. Seriously, the Suit was having a detrimental effect on Neal's work ethic, which had been all play and no work once.

Mozzie gestured for Neal to continue; he'd work on finding her name out at a later date. He figured the unnamed woman must have been something special to not have even received the twitch of a smile from Neal.

Neal sighed. "Whatever, now German philologists started to look for other pieces that could have been missing. A fragment was found in Karlsruhe: a small manuscript about Jesus' childhood. This was apparently the 'foolish balderdash' Abbot Beda had written about. You know how they identified it as part of the Codex Sangallensis?"

Neal's eyes twinkled with an enthusiasm that should be reserved for gold and diamonds or a Monet or two, not dusty old scraps of parchment. Mozzie gave into his young friend's euphoria over the most unusual of things; he should never have told Neal to read whatever he could get his hands on.

"The golden initial." Neal smiled.

Mozzie had intended not to interrupt again, but Neal's wide grin told Mozzie that his friend expected him to understand all this on his own. "Golden initials? What? Neal, I don't have a degree in codicology..."

Neal smiled and pressed his hands together for the purpose of demonstration."You have two pages of a book. Codices didn't stand upright in medieval times; they were stapled and the pages were pressed together. The ink had time to dry; so did the colors of the illustration. However, for any gold color they used real gold, and metal doesn't work like color pigments: press the pages together and you get marks from the gold that can't occur any other way."

Mozzie frowned. "Sure you can, all you need is an oven, some..."

"Any other natural way, Mozz..."

Huh, yeah, he hadn't thought of that.

"So, the fragment from Karlsruhe had left a mark in the Codex Sangallensis and they could identify it and match it to the Codex with it?"

"Exactly, but there was more to it and that's important for our case – the woman who stumbled upon the fragment knew the particular form of the letter 'Z'. Very distinctive, very special and only used by the writer who worked on both the Codex Sangallensis and the Nibelungen manuscript in Karlsruhe. And – and here's the show-stopper – he also worked on the Parcival fragment, the same fragment that was stolen in Vienna. So our current-day thieves stole: the three existing Nibelungen manuscripts, the two fragments of the Codex Sangallensis, and the Parcival fragment – at least four of them connected to the writer with that very distinctive 'Z'.

Neal leaned back, obviously ready for the curtain call. From the first time Mozzie had met him, Neal had never ceased to surprise him over the most unusual of things. Most of the time Neal was just this light-hearted young man who simply enjoyed life. And then, in moments like this, Neal Caffrey changed into someone who could give classes at any prestigious university: art – any art, and its history. It was a case for him, a mystery: that was just the way he saw it; he made an adventure out of everything he became interested in. No wonder the Suit was willing to take Neal on as a consultant; solving crimes served Neal's exploratory spirit.

Neal stood and opened a second bottle of wine.

"But I don't get it, Mozzie. Do these thefts have something to do with the Nibelungen or with the writer? Wanting to get your hands on the manuscripts that contain the epic is understandable but..."

Mozzie thought about the German epic and shrugged. "It lacks the genius of Homer or Virgil."

Neal laughed and sipped from his wine.

"Sure, but it has everything a story needs. Dragon-slaying heroes, a strong woman, a weak but beautiful woman, a great villain, a treasure, a cloak of invisibility, battles won, kingdoms lost and Attila the Hun."

"Like I said, it lacks the genius..."

"The manuscript is worth millions."

"Maybe I underestimated the story after all..."

Neal walked over to the window. The night was cold and foggy and Mozzie hoped Neal wouldn't get the idea of taking their conversation outside. Fortunately, the only thing Neal needed was a glance outside. Mozzie knew the expression on Neal's face all too well; his friend wouldn't let go of this until he had definite answers. But there was something in his manner that suggested something a little more personal.

"Did you try to steal it?"

Neal turned around to him and gave him an astonished look.

"Come again?"

"The Codex Sangallensis. Did you try to steal it?"

Neal smiled mysteriously.

"It's too complicated."

"Doesn't answer my question..."

Neal sat down and was about to answer Mozzie when they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Given Neal's surprised look, he wasn't expecting anybody.

"Who's there?"

Nobody answered and Mozzie caught Neal's worried look. The younger man stood to answer the door. The unexpected visitor stumbled into the room and Neal caught her before she could fall.

"Alex, what the..."

Mozzie saw the blood at the same time Neal did. He took out his phone, ready to call an ambulance, when he was stopped by Alex's voice.

"No ambulance, Mozzie!" She looked up to Neal again. "Please... It's nothing, really; I'm just exhausted."

Mozzie stepped around Neal and Alex to close the door.

"Just exhausted? Your shirt is soaked in blood!"

Neal glared at Mozzie to make him stop talking. Mozzie trusted him on this; he had always had more of a knack with people. Neal lifted Alex up, who grimaced at the sudden movement. Mozzie pulled away the blankets on the bed to make it easier for Neal to lay Alex down. Then the younger man went to the other room to get a first aid kit while Mozzie sat down beside the injured woman. He carefully lifted her shirt and saw the deep cut over her ribs.

"What happened?"

"Long story, don't wanna talk about it right now."

Neal came back, barely able to conceal his concern for Alex.

"How bad is it?"

Mozzie took the medical supplies from Neal's hands and started to clean the wound.

"Just a flesh wound, looks worse than it is. She'll be fine."

Neal nodded but didn't seem to be convinced, but Mozzie had more important things to do right now than to allay Neal's concerns. Mozzie disinfected the wound with antiseptic. Alex hissed, but didn't pull back. Tough girl. Neal walked over to the other side of the bed and held her hand. She just gave him a skeptical look.

"Together in bed with... you'n... Mozzie... Who could have guessed?"

Neal smirked.

"Do you like it?"

"Had better."

This was getting personal and Mozzie really didn't want to listen to this right now.

"Oh, could you two just stop, please? I need to concentrate here!"

Mozzie pulled out a gauze dressing and started to bandage the wound. It probably needed stitches, but as long as Alex refused to go to the hospital, this would have to do. Mozzie could call in a doctor later.

Another knock interrupted them and once again, Neal looked up in surprise.

"Alex, have you been followed?"

The woman just shook her head and a moment later a muffled voice was heard through the wooden door.

"Neal, it's Peter. Open up; we have to talk."

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><p>Author's Note: And I hope it works... I uploaded pictures from two of the manuscripts. Just check out my profile if you want to see what I'm talking about. And please tell me if it doesn't work.<p> 


	4. Tête à tête

Thanks to the usual suspects, my wonderful betas **canadianscanget** and **mam711**. You make this a lot easier for me. And to my readers: I hope you enjoy!

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><p>Neal glanced at Alex, whose eyes widened in sheer disbelief. Peter often had remarkably bad timing for showing up at the loft but this topped everything. Neal stood and started picking up the medical supplies, while Mozzie tried to patch Alex up as fast as he could. They weren't fast enough for Peter though; he knocked again, louder this time.<p>

"Neal? I can hear you. Open the door already."

Neal shoved everything he held in his hands under the bed and stepped over to the door.

"Uhm, not a very good time, Peter!"

Neal heard Peter huff through the door. "Oh, I'm sorry, Neal. I'll come back tomorrow, okay?"

Neal frowned. "You don't mean it, right?"

"You really need an answer to that?"

Neal thought for a moment, then stripped off his shirt, kicked off his shoes and yanked his socks off. He turned around to Alex and found Mozzie helping her remove her top as well. Neal smiled, grateful for his friends' keen perception. A rendezvous would be easier to explain than a tête-à-tête with his cohorts in crime. Mozzie quietly crossed the room to hide in the closet and Neal glanced over to Alex, who gave him a reassuring nod: _ready_.

"Neal, I won't ask again. Open the door or I swear I'll make you work on insurance fraud cases for the next four months!"

Now, that threat was new. And scary.

Neal tousled his hair, dove for the door and tried to look… interrupted.

"Hey, Peter, what's up?"

"I'm…" Peter squinted his eyes. "Do you have company?"

Peter invited himself in and immediately spotted Alex. She had tucked herself into the comforter and tried for a casual smile. Neal noticed that her charade wasn't as flawless as usual. He was sure Alex was in trouble, the kind of trouble Peter could bring her down for. Alex tried to look more innocent by tilting her head slightly to her right shoulder.

"Good evening, Peter. Nice to see you again."

Peter stayed calm but Neal could tell from the way his face hardened that something was wrong. His fears turned out to be justified when Peter's anger deepened his voice.

"Ms. Hunter… I see you're back from your little field trip to Germany. I hope you enjoyed it."

_Damn__it! _If Alex had been in Europe, and Peter knew about it, she was probably involved in the Nibelungen heist. That in itself was bad enough; Neal didn't even want to imagine what Peter was thinking now with Alex being here, in his bed, naked and intimate... Neal wanted to say something, _anything_, to break the tension in the room but quite frankly he was at a loss for words. He figured any attempt at an explanation on his part would lead to the threat of nothing but insurance fraud cases for months on end coming to fruition. Damn, Peter's untimely arrival hadn't even afforded a moment of time to gain any information from Alex; he had no idea what was really going on. All he knew for certain was that Peter was on less than cordial terms with Alex – Alex who was nestled uncomfortably in Neal's bed like a trapped lynx: taut, ready to pounce and flee into the night.

"It was nice, yes. Although maybe a bit boring for my taste."

Peter's lips turned into a smirk and he lifted his eyebrows. "Yeah, I bet it was…"

Neal was getting impatient. "Peter, can I talk to you for a sec?"

He opened the door to make himself clear. Peter nodded towards Alex, then left the apartment. Neal followed him, trying to keep his frustration in check.

"Peter, would you please tell me why you're treating my friend like a suspect?"

With Peter's sucked-in breath and brief hesitation, Neal knew Peter would have happily yelled at him but instead kept his voice to a strained whisper to ensure Alex could not hear him.

"Because she is! Did you know? Did you know she went to Europe? Did she tell you something? Was she in on this?"

Neal sighed. "Peter, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Peter shook his head and licked his lower lip. "Right, of course, you don't know anything about anything… I can't believe it; I had your back, Neal – told Richter you weren't a liability, and the first thing you do is snuggle under the covers with our main suspect!"

Well, at least their little ruse of intimacy had worked, only Neal had the unnerving feeling he may have stuck his neck out a little too far on this one…

"Whoa, wait a minute… I thought our main suspect was Bishop. And if you're so convinced Alex's guilty, why haven't you arrested her yet? Huh?"

"Neal, security cameras caught Alex in Berlin shortly before the thefts. Richter hadn't thought there was a connection until you came up with the theory that Bishop needed partners. Now your friend is back on our radar. And please don't tell me her turning up now is a coincidence…"

"It could be…" Neal didn't sound as convinced as he wanted to. "Do you think it was her?"

Peter lifted his chin. "What do _you_ think?"

Neal dropped his gaze. He had no idea. "I'm gonna find out."

"We. We're gonna find out."

Neal nodded. "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Look, I'll keep an eye on Alex. Go home, get some rest."

Peter stared intently at him – not as a concerned friend, or partner, but as Special Agent Peter Burke. Neal was quickly reminded of the cold reality that this man he called a friend was a Fed and that he, Neal Caffrey, wasn't.

"Listen to me, Caffrey, if she is involved with this, I won't hesitate to arrest her; she'll get prison time. And so help me, if I find out you're up to something behind my back, I'll be arresting you too. Neal, I won't have a choice with Richter and Interpol watching us."

"Peter, I…"

Peter's voice and eyes warmed. "No. No excuses, no promises. I want you… _I __need __you _to do the right thing here, Neal. Don't make the same mistakes again. That's not who you are anymore."

Neal swallowed hard. "Okay."

Peter nodded and tapped his shoulder. Then he left Neal alone in the hallway. The con man breathed in and out a few times before he entered his apartment again. He found Alex sitting on the edge of his bed, fumbling with her boots. Neal saw her flinch when her arm touched the wound on her side. When she heard the door she looked up at him.

"Neal, I…"

"Don't." Neal didn't want to be rude but the less he knew, the better – something he'd learned from Peter. Plausible deniability. "You can stay here; Peter has nothing solid on you. Well, at least for now. I'll let you know if something pops up… But… whatever you took in Europe, get rid of it."

Alex was more like herself now – debonair, somber, maybe a little bit too nonchalant. "You don't understand. We're getting killed off because of this job."

Neal glared at Alex. He was getting sick of his own curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Alex gestured at her injured side. "I wasn't hired by the actual client but by an old friend of mine. He told me where to meet the client to hand, hm, _a certain object_ over to them. This friend of mine was meeting the client one day before me for a similar exchange. When I tried to call my friend repeatedly the next morning, he didn't pick up his phone or answer my text. I asked around and a John Doe had been found at the place his meet was supposed to go down. That was three weeks ago; I laid low – it'was obviously getting too hot for me. Today, somebody was waiting for me in my apartment. Tried to kill me... Whoever gave my friend that assignment wants to have… you know… what he wants to have."

Neal walked over to Alex and sat down next to her. He just looked at her until she smiled and leaned against him. He kissed her hair and wrapped his arm around her.

"We'll figure something out, Alex. I promise."

Neal looked up when he heard the door to the closet. Neal cursed. "Sorry, Mozzie, forgot you were there."

The way Mozzie pursed his lips told him he was anything but amused. "I get it; why would anybody remember the little guy in the closet?"

"There's a two-way mirror in there; you should've known it was clear to come out…"

Mozzie seemed to be flummoxed. "Hm, _'If__ we__ think__ about__ the __obvious __long __enough, __it __dissolves.'_"

Neal felt Alex chuckle. "Oscar Wilde?"

Mozzie stepped back in faked shock. "Mason Cooley… You have to start reading, Alex."

Alex threw a pillow at Mozzie and both of them were smiling. Neal however couldn't shake the feeling that things were steadily heading south. He had to find a way to make this all work. Alex. Peter. Neal hated juggling partners and friends, but once again he had no other choice. Fortunately, an idea had already sprung to life.

"Alex, which manuscript do you have?"

Alex was startled. "I thought we weren't going to talk about…"

Neal raised his voice when he interrupted her. "Which one, Alex?"

"One of the Nibelungen manuscripts. The one from Karlsruhe."

Neal stood and ran his hand through his hair. This could work. "Can you get it here?"

"I think so. Why?"

Neal turned around to her. "I'll tell you as soon as I've figured out the details." He couldn't keep himself from smiling. "It's time for some charity."

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><p>And just because I need to share this with somebody – <strong>SPOILER <strong>**ALERT** for everybody who hasn't seen or doesn't want to see the promos for the second part of season 3...

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><p>***Is this Neal with a gun in his hand? A gun in Neal's hand? Neal holding a gun? This an Raylan Given's hat alone in the woods will kill me. I'm not going to survive until January 17th***<p> 


	5. Crisscross

Thanks to my betas, **canadianscanget** and **mam711** – I'm so grateful for your help. And of course thanks to my readers, especially the ones who are kind enough to leave a review or send me a message. It makes writing a little bit easier. Enjoy!

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><p>For Peter Burke – Neal Caffrey was the best con artist he'd ever seen.<br>For Neal Caffrey – Peter Burke was the best at seeing right through him.

Of course, the only difference was that Neal really was the best con artist Peter had ever seen. Peter, on the other hand, had decided to let Neal believe that he was the best at seeing right through him. This was likely the reason Neal tried so hard not to lie in Peter's presence: Peter just needed to squint his eyes and Neal thought he was read like an open book. Most of the time it was the expression of surprise on Neal's face, the belief that he was caught in his lie, that gave him away.

Truth was, Peter couldn't have seen through his partner if it wasn't for Neal's own self-doubts. Neal could lie to him, deceive him, trick him with nothing more than just a little bit of his usual confidence.

The one thing Peter had truly been able to see through was Neal's smile. Peter had seen Neal in action more often than he could count, and he had learned to tell the difference between Neal's various smiles; somehow Neal aged when he faked his smile. Peter couldn't really describe it but whenever Neal just played a part and had to smile to get through it, it looked as if Peter Pan had found out that his kisses had just been thimbles and nothing more.

And right now, when Neal tried his best to work with Helene Richter and her team – pacing up and down the conference room, talking about strategies, grabbing coffee whenever someone needed one – he was smiling like a Cheshire Cat. Peter knew the smile was all lies but beyond that he knew Neal was hiding something.

The work itself was hard. They still had no clue about Bishop's whereabouts and although everybody jumped at the new lead of Alex Hunter being a suspect, they were soon frustrated by the lack of her presence on any of the crime scenes' surveillance footage. Peter was almost positive they wouldn't find anything on Alex, when Jones suddenly rushed into the office. Even though Richter was technically in charge, she respected the Bureau's chain of command and shot a glance at Peter before asking Jones what was up. Peter appreciated that about her. He nodded at his agent and Jones started the TV.

"Watch." Jones smiled.

He fast-forwarded the recording and then set it to play. Peter suddenly recognized the slender woman walking down the hallway of Munich's railway station. Peter only knew the station from the hours they'd already pored over the various surveillance photographs and recordings, hoping to catch a break in the case, something – anything – that would send them in the right direction. When the woman made a turn to the left her face was visible for only a few steps before she vanished behind some ticket machines.

When Jones started to talk again, Peter tried to watch Neal as inconspicuously as possible.

"The tape's from the day after the theft in Munich. Quality is good enough to identify the woman as Alexandra Hunter, aka Susan Doyle."

Jones glanced at Richter, whose eyes blazed with excitement. This wasn't enough to arrest Alex or even get a search warrant, yet, but circumstantial evidence like this would bolster the grounds for an arrest and would definitely support an indictment. Peter knew this recording was dangerous for Alex, and he was sure Neal was well aware of the importance of the evidence. Neal however didn't seem the least bit anxious. Instead he seemed puzzled. Was it possible that Peter had been wrong? That Neal didn't know as much as Peter had suspected?

The agent was distracted by Richter, who opened her files, pulled out her pen and – for the first time during their collaboration – had questions specifically for Neal.

"Mr. Caffrey, what do you think? Is Susan Doyle, sorry, Alex Hunter, our thief from Munich? I mean, she was also caught on camera in Berlin. There are nonstop flights from New York to Munich. Why would she take a detour? Or do you think it's possible that she was responsible for both the thefts?"

Peter watched Neal carefully. The younger man smiled. Lie. Peter was curious as to what Neal would say.

"Possible yes, but unlikely. Munich and Vienna would be one thing; different countries and it's easy to travel from one city to the other. Same goes with Karlsruhe and St. Gall. But Berlin and Munich? No."

"So, what you're telling me is that Hunter has no reason to show up in both cities but may I remind you that the evidence we just saw says the exact opposite?" Richter looked at Peter, one eyebrow lifted. "Didn't you say he was good? Really good? Weren't those your words?"

Peter was ready to defend himself and his partner when Neal lightly patted his arm.

"Peter, I'm flattered."

Neal smiled. Truth. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Well, Commissar Richter, like Agent Burke said, I'm good. Really good." Peter had no idea how long those words were going to echo in his head and was seriously regretting having said them. "And if I planned something like this – and I never did – I'd probably go for the first theft myself: the piece in Karlsruhe; that would give me time to stay focused on my partners. Plus it would get me out of the line of fire if the police turned up the heat."

Peter seriously doubted Neal was telling the truth here. No way would he take the easiest part himself – Neal was an artist, he would try to get the best reputation from this job – but whoever was behind the manuscript thefts was obviously less careless than Neal, who seemed to have taken this into consideration. Neal thought a moment about possible further steps before he continued.

"I'd recruit one thief for the remaining manuscript at the National Library to reduce my own chances at getting caught to an absolute minimum. The same thief could move on to St. Gall afterward; it's only a five-hour drive." Neal stared out the office's glass front. It was obvious that his thoughts were miles away. "It's almost the same in Munich and Vienna, only those locations would need a team; it's a two-man job. Berlin is outside the radius for both jobs; a fourth man would have to strike there. You see now? Whoever stole the piece in Berlin had no reason to be in Munich and the other way round. I highly doubt it's the same thief."

Peter smiled when he realized that Neal had played all the heists through in his mind – tying them together, planning exit strategies, choosing partners. It amazed him every time he watched Neal get caught up in the process and how quickly he assessed the variables and outcomes. Richter seemed less impressed.

"That seems quite plausible, Mr. Caffrey, but it still doesn't answer why Hunter shows up in both cities..."

Neal was slightly annoyed by Richter's inability to listen to someone until their thoughts were wrapped up. Patience wasn't really her strength. Neal sighed and sat down across from her to look her directly in the eyes.

"Crisscross scam."

Jones chuckled. "Wasn't that the scam you pulled off in Boston?"

Neal cocked his head. "Allegedly. Why do I always have to add this to your sentences?"

"Because we hope you might forget one day and then I own you for a few more years." Peter bit his tongue when he realized that Richter was taking this seriously. This woman really didn't have any sense of humor.

Neal seemed to notice the sudden change in Peter's mood as well and cleared his throat.

"Basically, it's a simple concept of quickly passing stolen items on and keeping the heat off the person committing the theft. And it's not just big heists; pickpocket teams use it on the streets. I'm not talking about skilled thieves that the marks never notice who can pick wallets alone, but about those guys who bump into you and you figure out in an instant that you were robbed but in that short amount of time your wallet was passed on to another thief."

Richter scowled at Neal. "And what does this have to do with our case?"

Peter could understand why Neal shook his head. Helene was incredulous. When Neal continued, his words sounded forced. "I was just about to get to that point… This whole concept also works with bigger heists: One thief takes – let's try to stick to our case – a manuscript. If they catch him on camera they start looking for him; but what they don't know is that the manuscript has already been passed on to another person. When they catch the guy they have on camera he doesn't have anything on him, ergo the manuscript can't be connected to him except for a recording, which in our case just shows Bishop in both locations – Vienna and Karlsruhe – not actually stealing the manuscript. The manuscript couldn't possibly be traced back to him."

Peter straightened up in his chair when he realized how well the scam applied to the manuscript heists. "But they also can't track down the manuscript itself because they have no idea who actually has it. Even if they check every person…"

Neal nodded at Peter, grateful to have someone to bounce his ideas off. "It's nothing that can't be fixed with a hidden compartment in a suitcase. I bet our thieves crisscrossed their manuscripts, probably at a small railway station. No security cameras, no search warrants."

Neal stood again and walked over to the flip chart. "You have six manuscripts, five cities, at least three thieves." Neal started to draw several circles. "We know for sure that Alex was spotted in Munich and Bishop in Vienna, and only after those thefts, which means they don't have the manuscripts from those cities, respectively. If Bishop was in St. Gall and I'm right about this plan, he was the one who stole the Codex Sangallensis and the Nibelungen manuscript from Karlsruhe. But he doesn't have either of them anymore and he surely isn't the head of this operation; neither is Alex."

"And that means we don't have anything on Alex Hunter, which would make you very happy, I suppose…" Peter was surprised by his own huffish side blow but it had to have something to do with his gut because Neal suddenly started to look nervous.

"Uhm, no, I'm not saying she is innocent. Just that she most likely isn't our main suspect."

Peter had expected Neal to be offended by his accusation, that Neal's motives in this case were flawed and overshadowed by long-held loyalties. Instead, the con man smiled. Again. This was getting ridiculous. For a moment it looked as if Neal and Peter were stuck in a staring contest, when Jones interrupted the silence.

"So, we basically have less than before?"

Richter stood. "No, we know about the crisscross scam now, which is a good start, I suppose… Agent Jones, could you please go through the footage with Agent Berrigan again? Ask Commissar Schröder and Commissar Brinkmann to help you, and ask for more help if you need it. This is important: look for people on two or more recordings. It will help us figure out how this crisscross scam went down. Maybe we can trace at least one thief."

Jones nodded and left the room. Peter was ready to get orders as well but Richter just collected up her stuff. Peter and Neal looked at each other, and Peter wasn't surprised when Neal shrugged. The younger man wasn't used to quiet people. They made him feel uneasy. When Richter finally decided to speak, her words apparently hit Neal as much as they hit Peter.

"I don't know you. We met a week ago and maybe this is the way you two work together under pressure. But from what my people have told me about the chitchat in this division, it's not how you normally operate – loaded questions, loaded answers; you should look at yourselves... Whatever issues you two have with each other, I don't need them as part of this case, and I just pray to God your problems have nothing to do with this case. What matt…"

Peter didn't let her finish. "I think we get it, Helene. You want us to keep our heads in the game. We will. No problems from my side. Neal?"

"Nope."

Richter's lips were just a thin line. "Sort out your problems. I'll see you gentlemen tomorrow."

Richter left Peter alone in the room with Neal. The agent looked at his convict and both were skeptical about Richter's reprehension. Then, out of nowhere, Neal started to grin, then laugh.

"Did you see her face when you interrupted her?"

Peter sniggered. "Oh yeah."

"She didn't like the taste of her own medicine."

"No, she didn't."

"So, will we talk about it?"

Peter dropped his gaze after he caught Neal's apprehensive glance.

"What about? The fact that you seem to know Bishop isn't in possession of the Nibelungen manuscript from Karlsruhe anymore?"

Peter put his badge on the table. Neal's eyes widened when he realized that this conversation was off the record.

"Peter, I…" Neal stepped back from him and tried to find words to explain. "She didn't tell me anything at first. And I still don't know much: I begged her not to confess to me. I thought you would get it."

Peter tried his best not to show his disappointment; he had hoped to be proven wrong about Neal's inside knowledge on this case. "What do you know, Neal?"

Neal shrugged, then slumped his shoulders and sat down. "Not much. Just that she has no idea who's the buyer. And that her partner is most likely dead."

That was more than just news. It could turn this whole case upside down.

"Bishop?"

"Don't know. No names. Plausible…"

"…deniability. Yeah, right. So, Alex has the Nibelungen manuscript from Karlsruhe?"

"Had. She doesn't have it anymore."

Peter lifted his eyebrows. "Where is it then?"

Neal smiled again and Peter knew the smile all too well – _mischief_.

"You're so gonna love this, Peter…"

The worst part about it? Peter had no doubts Neal was right.


	6. Coffee

To **canadianscanget** – I have no words for the help you've provided over the last couple of weeks. So I just stick to a huge thank you. Same goes for **mam711** – I know you have to be patient with me, thanks that you are.

And to everyone reading this, the last chapter before Christmas because my betas deserve a break. ^^ I wish you all happy Holidays, see you again soon. Cheers, EMK

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><p>"You did WHAT?"<p>

Neal took his feet off of Peter's living room table when he realized Peter was less than pleased by his recent activities than he had expected. He fought down the urge to fold his arms; he didn't want to look like he had to defend his actions.

"Come on, Peter, it's not as if I stole something…" Neal's eyes flicked upwards when he suddenly remembered. "Except for a pen, but it was just a promotional gift; I doubt the security guard will miss it."

Peter rubbed his face. "You stole a pen?"

Neal made an annoyed sound. This question alone showed that Peter was distracted and already ten steps ahead, thinking of ways to explain all of this to his superiors. Neal started getting nervous.

"What's important is that the manuscript from Karlsruhe is in the hands of the Historical Society right now. It's not too far from given back to the respective owner, right?"

Peter jumped up without further comment and headed to the kitchen. Neal expected his partner to come back with a beer and was surprised when he heard water running and drawers being opened and closed. Despite his curiosity, Neal decided to stay put. Peter wasn't in a very good mood and Neal knew that Peter sometimes needed a few minutes to sort out his thoughts on his own, especially when El wasn't around. Peter's better half would be at her sister's place for almost a week to manage a family event for her brother-in-law's nephew.

While Peter was usually the epitome of calmness, he changed when El wasn't snuggled up with him at home. Neal had come to realize and appreciate how both Peter and Elizabeth were so attuned to each other that a separation – even if just for a few days – made them feel lost. Two lives like key and lock, made to measure for each other. Neal had envied that aspect of their relationship from the beginning, perfectly aware that he had never experienced it with anybody.

Neal was disturbed in his thoughts when he heard a kettle whistling. Neal frowned, then waited for another second before his curiosity took over. He stood up, searching for Peter's company again. The agent was pouring hot water into a mug while carefully starting to bob a teabag up and down in the steaming liquid.

Neal chuckled. "Uhm, you need anything else there, Peter? Cookies? A good book to cuddle up with? How about some fluffy slippers?"

Peter turned around and glowered at Neal. "Oh, shut up. Our coffeemaker is broken and instant coffee is so... It's like…"

Neal shuddered when he thought about the familiar taste.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. But tea? You?"

"El likes to drink black tea instead of coffee once in a while when she needs something refreshing but doesn't want to stay up all night. I think her British florist got her hooked on this stuff, so maybe it's not all that bad. And I really need a buzz right now." He looked at the tea box next to him. "This might be good, it's from, huh, wait... there it is – it's from Sri Lanka. Want some?"

Considering he would have to stick with Peter for the next few hours, Neal started to feel he would need something to keep his hands busy with. On the other hand there was almost nothing more disgusting than bad tea. "Elizabeth bought it, right? American or English blend?"

Peter looked at him as if he spoke a different language. "Do I look like I know the difference? El got it from her florist."

Neal sighed. "Can't be bad then, I guess. Yes, please. You do know how lucky you are to have El, right? As an opposite of a bon vivant, you excel..."

Peter smirked. "All right, all right, I get it, I'm a philistine…"

Neal couldn't help but smile when he watched Peter carefully squeezing the water from the teabags, lifting them by the string and gingerly setting each one in a spoon before perfunctorily placing them into a compost bin. He couldn't have looked more tense handling a bomb. Neal savored the moment for as long as it lasted.

Neal had started to tell Peter the whole story of what happened back at the office, but they had been interrupted by Richard Green, the Interpol officer. From day one Green had kept a wary eye on Neal – watching him like a fly on the wall. His mere presence made Neal uncomfortable. He had steely blue eyes and took pride in abusing those eyes with icy glares. Neal didn't like that. The officer had asked about their progress and had casually inquired as to what they were talking about.

Peter had saved the situation. With a perfect fake smile, he had told the other man that they had just been discussing whether or not Peter should give Neal a ride home. Neal had understood immediately and started pretending to beg his handler to give him a ride. When Peter had rolled his eyes and told him to get his things Green shot the agent a skeptical look, which had turned into an icy blue threatening stare when he made eye contact with Neal.

Neither had talked until they were well clear of the office. A call from El had then kept them from talking during the drive. Neal guessed that she would smile if she could see her husband like this right now. Peter smiled at the two cups of steaming hot tea and Neal was sure he'd call out "Eureka" at any moment.

Peter went to pass Neal a mug, handle toward him so that Neal could take it easily; he'd done it a thousand times with mugs filled with coffee. But the tea was hotter than coffee generally is. Neal watched Peter hiss in pain when his fingertips touched the hot cup for a moment too long, reminding him too late that there was a perfectly good reason why they had handles. Neal quickly took a step to take his mug from Peter. He managed not to tease Peter as he watched the agent shove the stinging tip of his thumb into his mouth for a second and curse himself under his breath. Neal's amused smile disappeared as they sat down at the dining room table. An awkward uneasiness was creeping over him; he failed to shake it as he slowly sipped his hot tea. They still hadn't really started to talk about the manuscript.

Neal sighed. And as if Peter had read Neal's thoughts, he started asking questions. "Okay, let's start from the beginning. You broke into the Historical Society…"

He should never have wrapped his hands around the cup to sip the tea: it was starting to become uncomfortably hot to the touch, but Neal didn't dare to move. This was like a dance: he didn't want to misstep, nor was he allowed to step on anyone's toes – especially Peter's. "Not really. I was invited in."

"Under false pretenses."

"Is this conversation still off the record?"

Peter took a deep breath. "You know that I won't stop investigating Alex, right?"

It wasn't that Neal needed Peter in on this – Alex was capable of covering her own tracks and without the manuscript or a solid money trail, the FBI wouldn't get to her. But Neal wanted the agent to understand.

"I told her not to tell me anything. Don't get me wrong: I'll help you wherever I can, but I won't sell out my friends."

Peter's eyes darkened. "Neal…"

"No, let me finish."

Peter seemed startled when Neal interrupted him.

"I wasn't going to help Alex until she told me that she'd been attacked. Someone is trying to kill off the thieves from the manuscript heists. Alex isn't behind all this; neither is Bishop. Even if we manage to track down our thieves, we won't get whoever is responsible for the whole thing."

Neal told Peter about the man who'd brought Alex into this and was likely one of the thieves they were looking for, and that the John Doe was likely dead. Neal couldn't blame Peter for getting angry. Keeping this information from him was practically complicity. Peter didn't get the motivation behind his actions and Neal had the feeling he had to make himself clear once and for all.

"I didn't want to keep this from you, Peter... She's my friend and her life is on the line here. You can't ask me to stand by and do nothing."

The older man gave him a reserved nod. "I understand. So what's your plan? Lure our mastermind out?"

"What do we have? We have manuscripts from a medieval epic full of quests and adventures. We have an intelligent mastermind behind a series of crimes. We have at least one dead thief. Which means we have an Oberon who is willing to kill for the manuscripts."

Peter almost choked on his tea. "Oberon?"

Neal grinned. "In the epic the treasure of the Nibelungen – which is of unspoken value – is guarded by a dwarf called Alberich, who's nowadays known as Oberon."

"Do I even wanna know why you know all that stuff?"

Neal thought back to his times in Europe and shook his head. "No. No, you don't… Look, our Oberon wants to protect his treasure. I don't know why these manuscripts are so important to him, but the Nibelungen manuscript from Karlsruhe should be enough of a reason to make him show. The Historical Society will find the manuscript tomorrow and their librarians are educated enough to know what they're holding in their hands. We will make sure the press gets informed and once word is out, there is only a small timeframe for Oberon to get his hands on the manuscript – the time the library needs to authenticate it. Afterward it will go back to Germany and security will be too tight to get it."

Neal watched Peter as he thought about the theory. "You think he will try to steal it from the Historical Society?"

"No, but he will try to hire a thief to get the piece back. And this thief would have to act precipitously – the case is too hot. In New York anybody capable enough would never entertain taking on a job like this."

Peter looked confused, which was new for Neal. "So, how will Oberon do it?"

"He'll hire the thief we give him. We need a waterproof alias with some reputation to build onto. Do you know a New York art thief who hasn't been active for a few years? A cold case?"

Neal waited, while Peter started to walk through his old cases in his mind. Suddenly Peter's face lit up. "A few years back someone stole a painting from the Whitney Museum. The thief sidestepped all security measures but was caught by a security guard. He conned the man; told him he was a restorer named David Hall. We never caught the guy."

Neal knew exactly what case Peter was talking about and apparently the agent caught him in his thoughts.

"Neal, please tell me that wasn't you."

"That wasn't me."

"Is that the truth?"

Neal shrugged. "I'm just following your orders… Can I use that as a defense?"

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, then sighed. "First, tell me how you got into the New York Historical Society."

Neal started smiling when he realized his partner was one step from giving his consent to this plan. "A magician never tells his secrets."

Peter stood and started to curse under his breath, then he turned around to Neal. "I'll need a new coffeemaker if you expect me to get through this."


	7. Odi et Amo

Back from my little holiday break. I'm not sure if I can make another chapter before New Year's Eve, but I'll try my best. Thanks to **canadianscanget** and **mam711** who helped me out despite the holiday season. And of course thanks to all my readers – I got used to you and I kinda like it. Enjoy!

And just to let you know – if you can't pay for Brunello but want something not quite but almost as good for much less money, try Vino Nobile di Montepulciano. The grape is very similar to Brunello and Montalcino and Montepulciano are in the same region. Give it a try, you won't regret it.

* * *

><p>"David Hall? Neal, it's as if you had a have a genetic defect for common sense. That was the worst alias you ever had and now you wanna use it again?"<p>

Mozzie fumbled with the corkscrew and the bottle he held precariously in his hands. Neal tried not to think about the fact that Mozzie was wrestling with the five-hundred dollar bottle of wine Neal had received as a birthday present from June. He also tried not to think about the fact that Mozzie would drink the wine now, even when Neal had tried to spare it for a special occasion. As much as Neal tried never to humiliate his friend, he couldn't watch any longer; he was somewhat nervous because of this case, even though he didn't know why, and Mozzie's grip was far too tenuous. He walked over to Mozzie and reached for the bottle at precisely the moment the cork popped. Mozzie jerked and almost let the bottle slip.

"And this is exactly why I've never been fond of Biondi Santi. You'd have to be Schwarzenegger to get the bottle open without any problem."

"Calm down, Mozz. It's one of the best bottles of Brunello you can get your hands on."

Mozzie smiled and filled a crystal decanter with the wine that had already aged enough to present itself in the deep red of a garnet.

"If Stevenson was right and wine is bottled poetry, this would be a carmina of Catullus. 'Odi et amo', Neal. I've hated and yet I love."

Neal tried to push away the thoughts whenever he heard anything about the Roman poet. The Catullan manuscripts were stored in the Vatican Library – a lot of security and slightly outside his two-mile radius. Besides, he had other manuscripts to steal right now. Allegedly. He took the decanter and two wine glasses and motioned Mozzie to sit down at the table. He stopped when he realized the scent of Alex's perfume was still lingering in the air. Neal expected her to run after she had given him her stolen manuscript, but hoped she trusted him enough to stay.

"Neal?"

He realized he had been staring into mid-air and tried to push Mozzie's questioning look away with a shake of the head. Neal sat down, still surprisingly upset with Alex's unannounced departure. He forced himself to resist the wine; it still needed to breathe. He wet the tip of his finger and rubbed the rim of his wine glass to make it sing. The sound had always calmed him but it had little effect this time. Mozzie shot him a questioning look and Neal finally decided that his knowledge of wine wasn't enough to keep him from filling up his glass right now.

Mozzie was still able to read him like an open book.

"You shouldn't attach too much importance to her getaway; it's not against you. It's just who she is. It's who we all are."

"I wouldn't have run without even leaving a number. It's the least she could've done. She has no idea what's at stake here: for me, for Peter…"

Mozzie sighed and sipped the wine in front of him. Neal could see his friend attempt to keep a straight face, when he realized the wine hadn't breathed long enough to unfold its full taste – there was no hint of berries yet, no vanilla.

"Neal, I'm telling you again – the Bureau might hold you in its embrace but it's still your enemy. They do their best to tame you."

"Peter doesn't tr…"

"I don't doubt the Suit's intentions, but his superiors. You can't blame Alex for laying low."

Neal's anger rose, not because Mozzie was wrong but because he was right. Alex had every right to leave and with good reason. He had to accept that she wasn't willing to sacrifice her freedom for Peter's investigation. That thought brought him back to the topic at hand.

"Will you? Lay low, I mean? Or will you help me?"

Mozzie pursed his lips.

"You haven't thought this through. What happens when the Suit's buddies start asking about the Whitney heist, Neal? How you know certain things? What if they start investigating again? What if the guard from back then can identify you as David Hall?"

Neal had thought about that possibility.

"The guard who saw me back then is dead. Died of a heart attack three years ago."

"No composite?"

The forensic facial sketch had already been on Peter's desk when Neal had entered the office this morning. Peter had narrowed his eyes and looked between Neal and the sketch several times. Neal knew his handler was once again trying to determine Neal's possible involvement in the heist. Fortunately, the Identi-Kit was just… so bad. Neal had to fight the urge to correct the artist to make David Hall look a little bit more like him.

"Believe me, Mozz; nobody would recognize David Hall as me when they look at that composite."

"And the description? Enough to hold out against a jury?"

Neal smiled and sipped his wine. Yep, he really should have given it more time to breathe.

"The guard said my eyes were green."

Mozzie lifted his eyebrows. "Green? Was he colorblind?"

Neal stood and went over to the sideboard. He pulled out a flashlight – one of those big high intensity halide lamps that could light a whole room in stark bright white light – and sat down across from Mozzie again. He switched on the flashlight and pointed it toward his face.

Mozzie opened his mouth in surprise.

"Huh. Green."

"Yeah. Cold light does that. I love museums with neon lights. It's not as good as an alibi but it's something…"

Mozzie nodded in agreement but he was like a terrier when it came to any weak spots in a plan.

"What about the painting? Could that give you away? What was it?"

"A Prendergast. I sold it to an officer of the Egyptian army. I doubt the painting will turn up with everything that's going on there right now. Come on, Mozz… You just have to spread the word that David Hall is in town. That's all. Let me take care of the rest."

Neal pitched his voice toward a childlike plea. Mozzie couldn't resist.

"Okay, but I'm telling you: If you get yourself in trouble over this I won't help you out. The Suit can take that job. I'll just sit here, enjoy the rest of your wine and ask El and June to join me while you and the FBI go up against a crazy killer client. Maybe I'll even give Sara a hint where you hold th…"

Neal filled up Mozzie's glass again.

"Drink something and calm down!" He tried to make his smile as reassuring as he could. Mozzie was concerned and Neal didn't want him to play the con through again and again in his head with all the possibilities of something going wrong. "You won't tell Sara anything because everything will be fine."

* * *

><p>Helene Richter started to get jittery. Her commissars had gone after an anonymous tip three days before: that one of the manuscripts they were looking for could be found at the Historical Society. With a little help from Neal, Peter was able to convince his German colleague to go along with their plan without noticing Neal's integral involvement in its preparation.<p>

Neal had always considered the German policewoman as dangerous but never as a threat to his work at the White Collar division. Her comments, however, had started to become disparaging; she didn't even try to hide her opinion that the FBI's plan was a waste of time. Neal was taken aside by Peter, who told him that Hughes was growing concerned with the increasing tension within the task force; he was considering removing Neal from the case. The con man tried to look unimpressed but Peter's tone told him that the situation was to be taken seriously.

"I can insist for maybe two more days, Neal. Two days. If it takes our Oberon longer to get in contact with David Hall, the manuscript will go back to Karlsruhe. And then what?"

Neal didn't drop his gaze even when he felt like a schoolboy in the principal's office.

"Trust me, Peter. He'll call."

"What if he doesn't?"

Peter was agitated. The agent didn't like keeping information from his team, especially not when they were about the John Doe Alex had worked with and was now presumed dead. Neal had suggested telling Diana and Jones, and having them look into the John Doe, but Peter had turned him down immediately. Richter would notice they were looking into something and Peter wasn't willing to drag his agents into this. Neal understood. And it made him feel miserable because he hadn't hesitated to do just that to the man whose career, whose trust and friendship, was at stake every time he was drawn into Neal's world.

Neal shrugged. "It has to work. And it will."

It did.

A day after Peter had issued his ultimatum, two days after Mozzie had activated his contacts, they received a message on the email account created for David Hall. The message provided for a high fee in return for the delivery of the manuscript, which had to be stolen in less than 36 hours. The client's email address was Columbian, the message written from a server on a train. No chance to catch Oberon with this little information.

Richter agreed to proceed with the whole plan - con. David Hall had emailed his client to bring his fee in cash at the specified delivery point. The supposed heist would take place tomorrow night. The press had been informed about the manuscript the day it was found by the librarians in the New York Historical Society. In two days' time the press would be informed of the latest theft of the priceless piece of history when David Hall supposedly completed the heist. Peter had never stopped to look worried. This was too easy.

The following morning Neal entered the Bureau without his usual warm greeting to everyone. He went straight to Peter's office and slammed the morning paper onto Peter's desk.

"Congratulations, Peter. Was it you or Richter who came up with this? You ever thought about telling me? I mean… You know I don't like making deliveries under circumstances like this… It's messy and viol…"

"Are you behind this?"

Peter tapped his finger at the headline that suddenly looked more like a nightmare than a creative twist to their original plan to Neal.

"Are you behind this?"

"What? I have no idea what you're talking about…"

Peter rose, trying to keep his voice calm.

"No games, Neal. Did you have anything to do with this? A man is dead. I need to know what's going on."

Neal pulled back – the room suddenly seemed smaller, tighter, the air heavy – something deep inside of him told him to run.

"No. No! … I have no idea. I promise, Peter. I thought it was your idea to make it look more dramatic for our bad guy… The guard is…"

"Dead. As in for real."

Neal stared at the bold letters on the front page of the newspaper: 'MANUSCRIPT STOLEN. GUARD SHOT.' Disconnected thoughts fired into his mind: Had Oberon hired another thief? Was someone else involved besides their Oberon? Richter, no, bad idea… Was it random? Coincidence? Or… This whole case was continuing to become more and more complicated, and whatever had happened, Neal was sure he was screwed.

"Michael Bates. His name was Michael Bates. He was the night guard in charge."

Death per se made Neal sick but this time guilt made him feel dizzy. He sat down and forced himself to stay focused.

"Any leads?"

Peter scrutinized Neal: his tense jawline, the slight tremble, the genuine sorrow behind his eyes. He was satisfied Neal had no idea what had been going on. But still, a man was dead.

"No. It appears to have the makings of an inside job. Other than that – nothing. Jones and Diana are questioning the experts that authenticated the manuscript right now. Richter's group is questioning the security personnel and other employees of the Historical Society. But I have doubts we'll get anything there.

A thought crossed Neal's mind and he wasn't sure if he should put himself into more trouble than he already was in right now, but as usual, he couldn't help himself. It had to be genetic.

"Wait, how come I wasn't arrested right away; that's the usual M.O.?"

Peter smirked.

"If I was in charge you would have been brought here the minute we found out. Richter has a different point of view."

"Different?"

"An innocent man was killed on her watch and she think it's your fault."

"Of course. But then-"

"She said your plan and its outcome showed you were too stupid to pull something like that."

"Wow. That hurts…"

The agent nodded."Yeah, I almost felt a little bit offended myself."

"You did? Because of me?"

"Nah, because that made me look like the fool that trusted the fool."

Neal opened his mouth then shut it when he realized it made sense.

"And Richter kept you from calling me?"

Peter handed Neal a file.

"No, this did. Your tracking anklet didn't show any movement and so far it's pretty clear that only someone with inside knowledge and access could have gotten that far. Only the guard in the room with the manuscript was killed. Everyone else was unharmed."

Neal opened the folder and skimmed through the security report.

"Any concrete suspects?"

Peter leaned forward and flipped to the last page of the file.

"This is everyone who worked with the manuscript at the Historical Society. We think it's one of them."

There were a lot of names, a lot more than Neal had expected. But only one name jumped off the page at him. He calmly lowered the file.

"Are all these people here?"

Neal just waited for Peter's nod. He dropped the file to Peter's desk and half-ran to the interrogation rooms. The people in the waiting hall were strangers to Neal. He went from one interrogation room to the other, shooting short glances inside every window. Most of them were occupied by Richter's commissars and it had to be Murphy's Law that the one he was looking for was the last one.

A woman was sitting across from Jones. The curls of her dark brown hair were a sharp contrast to the classic cut of her dark blue pantsuit. Her skin was of a distinguished paleness and she obviously didn't try to hide her freckles with makeup. She looked confident and if she felt uncomfortable because of the interrogation, Neal couldn't see it. He didn't hesitate any longer but stepped into the small room. Jones looked up at him and Neal knew it was one of the few times the agent was really angry with him. But he would take care of that later.

Neal looked over to the suspect, his eyes wide in disbelief. The woman smiled at him, her head cocked just so – just enough to frustrate him, to provoke him. Her voice was soft when she confirmed his fear.

"Hello, Neal. It's been a while."


	8. Wrongs

Hey everybody, I hope you survived the Holiday season and got to enjoy it a little. I'm sorry for the delay, too much work in too little time. I hope you enjoy this chapter nonetheless.

As always beta's by **canadianscanget** and **mam711**, I appreciate your efforts very much – Thank you!

* * *

><p>Coffee is so much more than just a hot beverage – it's a ritual: the roast, the water, the temperature, the mug and the person who drinks it.<p>

Peter followed the rules, straight up, yes, but he also loved the rush of solving a situation he had never been in before. That was, amongst other things, one of the reasons he was so good at his job. But as much as Peter reveled in spontaneous acts of ingenuity, he was also almost addicted to the few rituals he held high: breakfast with El; a new pair of socks under the Christmas tree; a cup of coffee, whenever his mind was working like a flipper and he needed to focus. When he neglected his rituals, Peter got stubborn.

Neal on the other hand could think of only one ritual he valued – secrecy. He liked talking, sometimes more than he should, and he had no problem with sharing a few featherweight adventure stories. But there were certain aspects of his life and certain moments that had hit close to home for Neal Caffrey. The con artist rose to a whole new level of secrecy when those memories tried to catch up to him. When his secrets were about to be drawn into the spotlight, Neal got stubborn.

Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke stared at each other, as they sat stubbornly quiet in the agent's office. The con man had his arms crossed and looked at his handler as if he was about to get lambasted. The agent was clicking the pen he held, faster and faster, as his blood pressure steadily climbed with each passing minute.

"Do I need a lawyer?"

Neal finally broke the tension that had built for nearly ten minutes.

"You tell me!" Peter was pissed, to say the least. "Are we even talking 'bout a _real_ lawyer here or the little guy?"

Neal opened his mouth and cocked his head.

"Really, Peter? Insulting my friends? Now, that's classy."

"Classy? Define classy – sleeping with every woman who ever batted her eyes at you, and apparently with every suspect in this case."

Neal uncrossed his arms and straightened up in his chair. Now he was angry.

"Does it matter?"

Peter puffed out his cheeks.

"What do you think, Neal? What sort of field day do you think a defense lawyer would have in this case, with a CI involved that's slept with two of the prime suspects? Do you have any idea how screwed we are just because every single one of your ex-girlfriends seems to be involved in this? Jesus, I'm just waiting for Kate to come back from the dead telling us she was the one behind everything…"

Peter hated himself when he got stressed and ended up being short-tempered. And right now – with Diana and Jones basically falling under someone else's supervision, Caffrey one step away from ruining the case, El out of the house and his friggin' coffee machine broken down – _'stressed out'_ would be an understatement. Peter had no idea where to start and unfortunately in all this mess his social aptness had sunk to the all-time low of a goldfish. Neal's blue eyes widened in surprise and shock, and when the young man finally spoke, the soft, and somehow lost, sound in his voice hit Peter hard. He knew he'd crossed the line, but _damn it_, Caffrey pissed him off at times with his callowness.

"Thanks, Peter, really nice. Was there anything else you wanted to get off your chest? 'Cause I would hate my loss of a loved one to interfere with your case in any way, shape or form… And just for your information – I haven't seen Anna in years. And I certainly didn't expect her to show up in New York. Maybe I should have. She had a thing for the Nibelungen manuscripts, even back then. Everything I know about manuscripts, I know from her. Everything she knows about stealing them, she knows from me. It lasted for a couple of months, it was fun, and then it was over. I didn't think I'd ever see her again."

Peter calmed down a little bit when he saw how Neal's thoughts drifted away. He looked older when he started to share personal information he had never intended to share with his handler. It was so different from the lies he used when he wanted to sidestep Peter to save his own ass. Whatever it was between Neal and this former lover, it hadn't lasted, which was a good thing, because it placed Neal away from any immediate involvement in whatever was going on right now. It didn't mean, however, that Neal wasn't in trouble.

Peter gave his consultant another minute to gather his thoughts before he cleared his throat and came back to the problems they needed to sort out right away.

"Were you two involved in anything criminal?"

Neal lifted his eyebrows like he was about to ask if Peter was serious. The agent immediately corrected himself.

"_Together_, I mean."

"No. I never was part of anything Anna pulled off; it was just rumored. She should have been part of something I _allegedly_ was involved with, but she apparently got cold feet and disappeared."

Peter leaned back in his chair and shot Neal a tired smile.

"What was it?"

"As if I was going to answer that…"

Peter shrugged. "Worth a shot."

Neal shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted the interview; I know that. But I needed to see with my own eyes… That it was really her, you know?"

The interruption wasn't so much a problem as the fact that Richter had noticed everything – she was no longer willing to take the risk that came with Neal's continued involvement. Peter started to click his pen again.

"Peter, can you stop with the pen. Please?"

Peter rarely saw Neal on edge. There was something about this case that worried them both. For Peter, it was just a constant gnawing in his guts and he wondered if Neal also just had a feeling or if he knew something he was still not willing to tell. Peter pushed his pen away and rubbed his face.

"Are you sure Anna is involved in all of this?"

Neal nodded, then sighed.

"The Nibelungen manuscripts are stolen and the leading expert, who just happens to be a very talented thief, shows up out of nowhere and within a few days the one manuscript we have gets stolen again? Hell of a coincidence."

"You think she's capable of murder?"

Neal didn't answer; instead he gave the slightest of nods.

Peter knew it cost him a lot to give him that much.

"Could she be our Oberon? And this whole deal with Hall – could it be just part of the plan?"

Peter wasn't sure if it had been the right moment to ask. He didn't want to rush Neal or put him in a corner. His CI had his own way of dealing with friends, and even if he thought Peter wasn't aware of Neal's ability to pull all the strings in the background, the agent knew he had to go lightly on his partner's friends. In this case, Caffrey's loyalties didn't need to be questioned, though. He thought about Peter's question for a moment and gave a straight answer.

"Yes."

Peter stood and walked over to his window and leaned against the sill. Times like this, he really wished he was able to open the window and let in some air and noises to break the clean narrowness of his office. He still needed to tell Neal about the decision Richter had made after Jones' interview had been interrupted. Neal knew something was off – he narrowed his eyes and finally broke the silence.

"There's something else. What is it? Did you find something on David Hall?"

Peter held his head at an angle. He didn't even know if he was disappointed he had no solid proof that Neal was in fact _David Hall_ or if he was glad he didn't have anything on the Whitney heist that was pointing in Neal's direction.

"Nothing on Hall."

"But?-"

"You're benched."

Neal's jaw dropped.

"What?"

"Richter's decision. Your involvement with our suspects is dangerous, Neal. You're to stay at June's until this case is closed."

"But-"

"No. It's final."

"But Hall…."

Neal's eyes lightened up with hope when he thought he'd found a window of opportunity for his continued involvement in the case.

Peter shook his head, crushing any hope Neal held.

"Nope, we'll send someone else with a manuscript the Historical Society was willing to give us as bait. It's a risk, but it might work. And we hope Schröder will do as David Hall. The description fits, maybe even better than you – he has green eyes."

"It's just the light," Neal mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing… I got it. I go home and play chess. Alone. With myself. Thrilling life."

Peter smiled.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad at June's." Peter saw that Neal's mood was everything but good. "Hey, Neal… I'll keep you updated as long as it doesn't compromise the case. I promise."

Neal stared sullenly at Peter for a long moment before offering up one last piece of his well-guarded past.

"Keep an eye on Anna. I taught her well."

* * *

><p>Helene Richter sat in a car with Diana Berrigan, watching the Hall meeting location. Her apprehension was steadily growing. Schröder was experienced with undercover jobs, and she didn't doubt the ability of her own commissar nor the FBI agents involved. It was a different story with her Austrian colleagues, though. For the past few years, every capable Austrian police officer in Richter's area of expertise had either been working on corruption cases involving leading politicians and commercial banks, or the restitution case of several Schiele paintings stolen during WWII and now<em> held captive<em> by Austrian museums, who refused to return them to their respective owners.

Sure, the Nibelungen heist had caused some troubles, but obviously it hadn't been important enough to send her commissars that were a little bit more experienced. She carefully regarded the Austrian police officers standing off to one side, looking as inconspicuous as wolves amongst sheep. Oberon would have to be stupid to show up here.

"You want some coffee?"

Richter looked at Berrigan, who held up a thermos jug and a plastic cup.

"Why not…? Yes, please."

They shared a smile as the hot beverage not only warmed their hands but their spirits. Richter's mood had lifted with the rich aromatic smell alone and Berrigan seemed a little more relaxed too. Diana looked at the German policewoman carefully. Richter knew the look; it was that strange kind of hesitation before you say something to a superior that really shouldn't be of your concern.

"Caffrey's not really a bad guy. I have no idea what's going on with him on this case; he… He's different, usually."

"I figured." It wasn't even a cop-out. "Otherwise Agent Burke and you wouldn't accept him as part of the team, I guess. But it doesn't change the steps I have to take to put this investigation on solid ground."

Berrigan nodded and Richter understood that this topic of conversation was already over. The FBI agent just wanted to speak her mind. Richter was almost a little bit jealous of Burke's team. Both Jones and Berrigan were in a class of their own – they were smart, fast, loyal and polite, and they weren't interested in pissing contests over jurisdiction. Richter was just about to tell Berrigan how much she appreciated their good work when a sudden movement caught her attention. A man was coming closer fast. This wasn't just a passerby.

Six agents watched Schröder carefully as he stood up from the park bench next to the fountain in the middle of the square: Burke and Jones were sitting in a coffee shop securing the far left exit point; two Austrian police officers were securing footpaths leading to a little park, and she and Berrigan were set to pursue the suspect by vehicle if necessary. Richter knew that everybody was focused on Schröder right now, expecting the man to approach the commissar, hand him the money and take the manuscript. They knew Oberon was dangerous and that they would have to act fast once the exchange was completed. But they never saw what was coming.

The man – tall, lanky, with close-cropped blond hair – quickened his step until he was about an arm's length from Schröder. The commissar went to stretch out his hand in greeting, when the stranger pulled a gun from under his coat and fired two shots rapidly into Schröder's chest. Richter saw Schröder go down; she was already halfway out the car and was now on a dead run towards her teammate. The assailant spun around, his eyes wild with rage. Richter pulled her own gun and aimed at the shooter's head.

"Police. Stop!"

The man didn't drop his weapon. Burke and Jones closed in behind the man but out of Richter's line of fire. Richter glanced over to Schröder's motionless form. She raised her voice, keeping her hands steady and her aim dead on.

"Drop your weapon! Now!"

The man smirked and started to lower his weapon, then in a blink twisted the gun upwards and squeezed the trigger. Richter instinctively ducked and returned fire. Her own bullet sank into the man's chest, while Burke and Jones hit him in the back. He was dead before he hit the ground. Richter glanced around, quickly assessing everyone's status: Berrigan was right behind her; her Austrian colleagues had just arrived – so slow, she could scream; Burke was doing the same as her, as well as surveying the area for other threats, and Jones was beside Schröder trying to find a pulse.

"He's alive. The vest did a better job than I expected."

Richter let go a sigh of relief. Schröder had a little daughter waiting for him at home. Jones was calling an ambulance and Richter frowned when Burke pulled out his phone as well.

"Who are you calling, Peter?"

Burke looked up and noticeably stiffened. "I'm updating Hughes… And then, yes, I'm calling Caffrey. I just wanna tell him that we got our guy... Safer to keep him in the loop whenever possible."

He added the last part with the hope Richter would see it as reasonable and not some need on his part to inform his CI about a case he was no longer supposed to be involved with.

Richter didn't even blink.

"All right, I guess. I don't think I have to tell you not to drop information that could get us in trouble, Agent Burke."

Peter nodded. He updated Hughes and then walked a few steps away to call Neal. Richter didn't even recognize something was wrong until Berrigan raised her concerns that Peter wasn't speaking. Peter's face now bore a deep frown.

"He's not picking up… Helene, would you mind if I…?"

Richter heard sirens in the distance. Schröder was in good hands; she could secure the scene and then head to the hospital to check on her commissar. There was no pressing need for Burke to stay; he'd be available later for the numerous questions the FBI's OPR would have about the shooting.

"It's fine. I'll update you later."

Burke gave a few orders to his agents who started to secure the scene with the Austrian officers. Richter filled the paramedics in, then returned to supervising the investigation at the scene; police-involved shootings always took longer to complete. They weren't even close to finished when Berrigan's phone rang. Richter tried to conceal her curiosity when Berrigan hissed and hung up a moment later. She patiently waited while Diana walked over to her.

"Something wrong, Agent Berrigan?"

Berrigan nodded and shot a glance at Jones who immediately joined them.

"We've got a problem. It's Caffrey."


	9. Missed Calls

First of all, once again thanks to my wonderful betas **canadianscanget** and **mam711**. I'd be lost without you!

This chapter was so much fun to write even when it got me worried every once in a while and it still does. So, tell me what you think, will you? I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** White Collar owns me, not the other way round. And I also don't own any rights for Billy Joel's song or its lyrics.

* * *

><p><em>Slow down you crazy child<br>You're so ambitious for a juvenile  
>But then if you're so smart tell me why<br>You are still so afraid?  
>Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?<br>You better cool it off before you burn it out  
>You got so much to do and only<br>So many hours in a day  
>But you know that when the truth is told<br>That you can get what you want  
>Or you can just get old<br>You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through  
>When will you realize?<br>Vienna waits for you_

_Billy Joel, Vienna_

* * *

><p>Five minutes.<p>

Neal sighed.

It had only been five minutes since he last checked his cell phone.

Nothing had changed.

It sat in front of him – silent.

He knew it would be another two to three hours before Peter and Richter sent Schröder in as David Hall to make the exchange with their borrowed manuscript. From what he knew of Schröder, the man was capable, and could probably pull a David Hall off – green eyes and all. Basically everyone on the team knew their job, right? Nothing to worry about. He knew Peter would be tied up for hours and probably wouldn't call immediately. He knew Richter would probably make a call to him difficult. What Neal knew more than anything else was that he couldn't quell the annoying jumpiness that kept him waiting for the anticipated call from Peter.

The phone still sat silently in front of him. No missed calls.

Neal paced around the small kitchen area. He opened a bottle of wine – decided that Bordeaux was only worth drinking when it was a Château. He opened another bottle – decided he was too used to wine to find it relaxing. He contemplated not drinking wine for an extended period. He took another mouthful of wine, relaxed, and… checked his phone again.

It was official – this whole Nibelungen heist would drive him crazy.

Calling Mozzie and requesting his company would have been the next step in any other situation but in this case it wasn't an option. Mozzie had taken a risk spreading the word about David Hall. Oberon was smart; if he managed to chase Hall back to Mozzie and Mozzie to Neal and then possibly to the FBI – his friend's company wasn't worth taking that risk.

Risk. Neal chortled; everything had become a risk since Anna surfaced. He had absolutely no doubt she was part of this whole mess, which made it even more likely that this wouldn't end well.

Of all people: Anna von der Hagen…

She kept finding her way back into his thoughts. He didn't know what it was that made it so hard to shake her from his head. Anna had never really been of any particular significance. She was fun, bright, intelligent – a quick study and an equally excellent teacher – a few months of adventure but nothing more. As far as he knew, she felt the same way about him. Still, whenever he thought about her pale green eyes, glimmering with levity, his memory of their time together stung more than he realized it ever would. Maybe in the end it had been the frosty but natural casualness in her departing betrayal that had hit him so hard.

The phone was still silent.

Neal could remember the day he first met Anna as if it was yesterday.

_She had left Berlin to be a visiting professor at the University of Vienna, while he had been visiting the city for less scientific reasons – the Imperial Treasury of Vienna_,_ to be exact. The Treasury had been – and to Neal's regret still was – in possession of an emerald vessel. The gem weighed almost 3000 carats and was of sublime quality: deep vivid green_,_ beautiful clarity and transparency_,_ carved by Dionysio Miseroni in 1641 to form an unguentarium – a vessel. In the 17__th__ century the __Grand Duke __of Florence had been willing to pay three _tons_ of gold for the masterpiece. _

Neal was sure that the stone was worth about a hundred million dollars on the current market. He smiled at how careless and venturesome he had been.

_He hadn't expected the security measures at the treasury to be that good. Reality had shown its brutal face pretty soon; Neal had spent a week devising plans to bypass the tight security but eventually he had given up on the emerald vessel. The stone that got away… He had decided to stay in the city for a few more days. The collections of the Museum of Fine Arts, the Belvedere, and most of all the Albertina, were amazing and enough to distract him in the short term. _

_Neal had been sauntering along the circular road that connected one historical building to another; the frustration of not getting the emerald had slowly been gnawing at him. That frustration had ended in boredom and finally in the idea to use the opportunity to practice other, more subtle, skills. Tourists were easy targets; there was no thrill in picking someone's pocket when they were excited by the beauty of the city. But residents – oh, residents had been a challenge. He had just passed by City Hall and was walking towards the university when he spotted the well_-_dressed woman digging around in her leather purse, probably Italian like her shoes. Neal hadn't been able to suppress a smile; rich women had a weakness for expensive shoes. _

_It should have been an easy grab and go. He had moved over to her quickly, but not too fast. When he spotted her wallet, at the very last moment he stretched out his hands to pick it, only a sudden drag on his wrist had thrown him off balance. He had found his arm caught by the woman he had been about to rob_,_ and who looked at him with a smirk. _

_"Kann ich Ihnen behilflich sein?"_

_Neal had swallowed hard_;_ something like this had never happened before. _

_"Uhm, I'm sorry, I just…"_

_The women looked like the cat that ate the canary. _

_"You just tried to steal something from me. And you are pretty good, I have to admit."_

_"What gave me away?"_

_She had chuckled._

_"You were watching me for almost a minute without flirting. And you already have three wallets in your jacket…"_

_Neal had started to understand._

_"You know about this stuff…"_

_"Call it the family business."_

_She had introduced herself as Prof. Anna von der Hagen, last heir of the great academic dynasty. Obviously the family _was_ still trying to carry their __most_ _famous ancestor's legacy and not only by holding a chair at a university. Friedrich Heinrich von der Hagen had stolen a fragment of the Codex Sangallensis from the Abbey of St. Gall_;_ his descendant had higher targets even when she hadn't become a thief yet. She had been a fence when Neal met her and the two of them had realized early on that they could achieve quite a bit if they worked together. Anna had organized a room for Neal even though he hadn't been in need of one very often_;_ Anna's bed had been large enough for both of them. They had filled their days with a shared passion for art, and art theft. It wasn't long before they started planning a heist that became legendary. _

The phone still sat silent but this time more than five minutes had passed.

Neal sipped from his Bordeaux. He wondered when exactly the easygoing relationship with Anna had begun to mean so little to the woman he considered to be a partner. He still had no answers to his questions. When he had seen Anna's name on Peter's list this morning, he hadn't thought it through. Jones had thrown him out before he could do so much as find the right words to greet her after all this time. Now, with Richter having him practically expelled, he had every right to fear he would never find out why Anna had left him in the middle of their heist without a word. Neal just underestimated one aspect in his musings – the devil isn't far when you speak of him.

This time Neal's attention wasn't drawn to the phone; rather, he was ripped out of his thoughts by a harsh knock. Neal had no idea who would be visiting him: Mozzie had strict instructions not to come by, every agent he knew was out preparing for the Hall operation, and June wasn't at home. He half expected to find Alex standing in front of him again when he opened the door. A woman, yes. Alex, no.

"Good evening, Neal. I hope my visit isn't unpleasant for you. We got interrupted this morning…"

She shot him a smile and once again he was captured by her imperfect beauty. Her slanting eyes were wide-set, her nose and chin too pointed but her hair somehow managed to cover that aspect. And her lips… a soft frame for her perfect teeth. Neal swallowed and reminded himself that he loathed this woman.

"Why are you here, Anna? Better still, how did you find me?"

She took a few tiny steps and was inside his apartment before he could do anything about it.

"A 'Nice to see you' would have also worked, but if you want to talk business right away… fine with me. Relax, you don't have to worry; I think the watchdogs have yet to realize I'm no longer in the hotel bar."

Peter had listened to his warning about Anna; two German police officers should have been watching Anna's every step after her interview this morning. Should have…

"It doesn't matter that you're not being watched. What do you want?"

Anna walked over to Neal's table and leaned against its edge. She took the glass of wine, sipped and grimaced.

"I never understood why you were so into red ones. Thought I converted you to white wine when we drank that Morillon… Do you remember?"

Neal did. He also remembered the night, their last night together.

"All too well. White wine always tastes a bit sour since we drank that Morillon... Will we talk about wine all night?"

She walked over to him and reached for his face. He drew back and she crossed her arms protectively.

"You look good…"

He snorted.

"No thanks to you."

Her face lightened up.

"Oh come on, Neal. Are you still mad at me because of what happened in Israel? Be honest with yourself for once – are you telling me you truly believed your plan was going to work? I mean, carrier pigeons; seriously, come on!"

Neal glared at her, forced his voice to remain quiet.

"Well, I got news for you: It worked. It did. Only my partner – who I trusted – wasn't there to pick me up after I got the manuscripts."

"I don't understand what your problem is… It's not as if you died there or anything."

"I almost did, Anna. And you didn't even check to see if I'd been shot by the damn security guards. You would have left me there to die, even when we both knew the guards were armed and I had an almost non-existent chance to get outta there without your help."

Anna bristled and started to turn away when Neal grabbed her arm and drew her close. Her pale cheeks turned red and a vein on her forehead started to show.

"Let go!"

"Oh no… First you tell me why you did it; why did you abandon me?"

She spit the words out as if they had left a bitter taste on her tongue.

"Because you did it for her! The whole reckless heist with birds and manuscripts bringing too much heat, too much attention for _us_ to get away safely – it wasn't about us. It wasn't about me. You did it for her."

Her eyes filled with tears of anger but not a single tear fell. Neal let go of her arm and stepped back.

"Kate… but… I thought we were-"

Anna interrupted him, still angry but a little calmer.

"What… friends with benefits?" She gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah, I figured. I liked you, Neal. And I'd be lying if I said I hadn't enjoyed my time with you. But I'm not a painting you can set aside when it no longer holds your eye. I was there, Neal, waiting for you, and all the pieces suddenly fell together. You can't blame me for not being part of a heist that was only a neat little trick for you, impressing your ex-girlfriend like nothing else mattered. You acted like a damn peacock on display!"

All these years he had never understood what had caused Anna to leave. The whole time he never once considered that it could have been his fault that she had walked away from him. She looked at him with glassy eyes and suddenly his anger fell away.

"I'm sorry…"

She smiled sadly.

"Yeah, me too… Did you really almost die?"

He cocked his head.

"Nah, it was a graze. Nothing serious."

Neal frowned when he remembered their current situation.

"Did you kill the guard?"

She started to fumble with her scarf and Neal already knew the answer.

"He caught me. It wasn't supposed to happen."

Neal drew in a sharp breath and looked upwards.

"Jesus, Anna…"

"Stop it." She said it without any pressure. "Stop pretending."

It was like a slap in the face.

"What?"

Her lips opened a little bit when she stepped closer, reaching for his face once again. This time he flinched but didn't pull back. She touched his cheek. Her hands were as cold as they had always been.

"You always try to see the best in the people around you, Neal. That's okay. But don't be naïve. This blind trust – one day it will cost you. I almost got you killed and still you're right here with me. I'm telling you I killed a man and you still look at me as if I could change as long as I try hard enough."

He took her hand and pulled it down.

"Anna, I..."

"Listen to me… People don't change. They never do. And as long as you keep putting your trust into everyone just to prove to yourself that _you_ can change, you will lose."

Deep inside he knew she was right about herself but he didn't want to admit that she could be right about him as well.

"I suppose you can go, then. If you can't change and if you're not willing to, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for you. I'm just telling you right now – the FBI will catch you. They won't let you get away with this."

She smiled and the shimmer in her eyes made him shudder.

"I need your help. Someone is after me."

"Oberon."

She lifted an eyebrow.

"Oberon?"

"The mastermind behind the Nibelungen heists. I named him after Alberich."

"You still remember what I told you about the Nibelungenlied…"

All of that seemed to have happened in a different life. Neal shook his head.

"They've always been your favorite. How do you know he's after you?"

She turned around and sat down at his table. She seemed to abandon her distaste for red wine and downed the remainder of his glass.

"My room… It was turned upside down when I returned."

Neal sat down next to Anna and refilled the glass for her. Once again his curiosity was stronger than his good intentions.

"The manuscript?"

"Safe for now."

"Why did you come here?"

She leaned towards him and touched his arm.

"Neal, I'm not safe. I have no idea what'll happen and I need someone to kno-"

They both heard heavy steps nearing his apartment door. Her eyes widened in shock and Neal put his finger against her lips to quiet her. He quickly walked towards the door.

The door burst open and three men pushed into the apartment. One of them grabbed for Neal, but he ducked and twisted away. The intruder stumbled but caught himself early enough to keep Neal from reaching the knife block in the kitchen. He grappled Neal and brought him hard to the floor. Neal scrambled forward but the anklet allowed the man to gain a solid grip and pull Neal back towards him. Neal prayed the device would break and set the alarm off. He prayed in vain. The man kicked him hard in the stomach. He gasped for air but kicked wildly until he hit his attacker's knee. The man cried out and Neal rolled to the side and took his chance to draw himself up. He saw Anna cornered by the other two men. Neal yanked the bottle of wine from the table and hurled it at the attackers; it glanced off one attacker and shattered against the wall next to Anna. She turned to protect her face and eyes. It was the chance the second muscle had been waiting for. He grabbed Anna's wrist and yanked her forward and off balance. She yelped in pain and fear. Neal stepped toward her. Something heavy came down on the back of his head before he could manage more than two steps. He buckled to his knees. Another two blows fell heavily across his neck and shoulders. A sharp pain rose from his skull over his nose into his teeth. His vision started to blur.

Nausea swept over him as he tried in vain to reach Anna. He heard the man behind him chuckle. The man shoved by him and joined the other two men who were dragging Anna away. Neal squeezed his eyes shut as pain and nausea swept over him again. He couldn't recall what to do in a situation like this. Thinking straight was getting hard but… yes, he knew what he was–

The phone started ringing.

Now – now, after all his waiting.

Now, when he was writhing in pain.

Now, when his feet wouldn't carry him.

Now, the phone was ringing.

He knew he needed to do something… Peter–

Neal tried to reach the phone but couldn't.

He knew he needed to… stay awake… talk to Peter because of… _something_. It was important, but he couldn't remember what it was. His head hurt. He gingerly touched his head and wondered where the blood came from.

He didn't fall into the darkness; it simply hit him, leaving him without any chance to fight it. He let himself fall back and closed his eyes.

Peter would have to wait.


	10. Proof of Life

Sorry for the delay, guys. I struggled with Peter and Neal. They can be pretty stubborn from time to time…

And because the website failed to allow any comments on my previous chapter, I think I have to thank everyone who send me their opinion anyways. It means a lot. Thanks as always to my betas **canadianscanget** and **mam711**. Enjoy!

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><p>Peter stopped at a red light and cursed. He looked over at Neal, who shifted once again in an effort to find a more comfortable position. Right now he was trying to support his head with his right hand but Peter could tell from the way his shoulders tensed that Neal wasn't even close to relaxed.<p>

"Almost there."

Neal shot him a glance, something between anger and annoyance in his eyes.

"Thank you, Peter. After six hours in a hospital I think I can wait another ten minutes to get home."

"Quit whining, would you? If it had been up to me, you'd still be under observation."

Neal closed his eyes and buried his head in his right hand again as Peter drove on.

"Well then, I guess I have to thank God that decision wasn't up to you, right? I told you – I'm fine. I won't die from a concussion. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?"

Peter was getting louder. Neal winced.

"Can you keep it down a little? You shouldn't worry 'bout me; we need to find Anna." Neal glanced outside the car's windows. "Wait... are you taking me to your place?"

Peter turned left and smiled.

"Look at you… Developing detective skills after all."

"Peter, you don't-"

"You can't go home yet; forensics is on scene processing your apartment."

"June?"

Peter heard the worried tone in Neal's voice.

"She came home; insisted on staying at the house. I have someone with her for now but it's unlikely your attackers will be back."

Neal looked guilty, and with his head bandaged he looked a little bit like a lost child. Peter's heart skipped a beat. He didn't want to think about how close he had come to losing his partner this time. When he had seen the chaos at the apartment – the door kicked open, the chairs upended, the shattered bottle, and most importantly, Neal lying motionless on the floor – the sinking sensation in his stomach was a feeling Peter wasn't eager to go through again.

"Look, Neal… It wasn't your fault."

Neal's head shot up; the aching head and bruised neck and shoulders momentarily forgotten. His eyes filled with raw anger. The idea of comparing Neal to a lost child suddenly seemed ridiculous, even to Peter.

"Like I don't know that? You don't have to tell me it's not my fault but still… people around me are getting hurt – Alex, Anna… June's place has to be watched. And I should what…? Lean back and twiddle my thumbs?"

Peter took a deep breath. Why was it so hard at times to make this guy understand that the world didn't revolve around him?

"I know you wanna go out and catch the bad guys, but seriously… Look at you! You're in no condition to go out on a manhunt, much less when we're up against God knows who just waiting for us to make a wrong move!"

"I need to find her, Peter… What would you do?... What if it was me?"

Neal was dead serious.

"That's different. And you know it."

"How?"

Peter carefully watched the road in front of them, avoiding Neal's gaze, even when the streets were as empty as they could be in a city that doesn't sleep.

"You're a friend."

Neal snorted then laughed quietly.

"Then help a friend. Don't shut me out of this investigation, Peter."

Even if Richter allowed Neal back in on the investigation, even if he hadn't almost been beaten to death, Peter would feel uncomfortable; he would constantly worry Neal didn't have his head in the game. It would cost Peter his focus.

"Not an option, Caffrey. You'll stay put until I say otherwise."

"But-"

"Listen to me! You'll stay put. Until I say otherwise. Or I swear I'll find a less desirable way to keep you on lockdown. Am I making myself clear?"

Neal glowered then turned his head towards the window.

"Clear as a bell, Agent Burke."

They drove in silence the rest of the way. Deep down Peter had to admit that he wished he could trust Neal on this. Having Neal to bounce ideas off, someone to think outside of the box, was certainly something Peter could do with right now. But this case was responsible for killing two people – that he knew – and hurting at least three others. Richter was right; there was no wiggle room for liabilities.

Peter pulled up in front of his house and turned the car off. He soon realized Neal was sound asleep. He tapped his shoulder and Neal jolted awake, blinking against the light, or the pain – Peter didn't really know. Neal was still pale, his eyes a bit glassy. As soon as he realized where he was, those eyes looked back at him with about as much attention as Peter could probably expect from someone who had been in need of several stitches and a CAT scan.

"Sorry, Peter… Dozed off…"

Peter tried to smile but failed. "I figured."

"You look like crap."

Now that was a twist…

"Excuse me?"

"Did you get any sleep?"

Peter exited the car.

"Nope. I was too busy getting my consultant to a hospital."

Neal just nodded and opened the car door. He tried to get out; Peter came around to help him.

"I got this. Just let me… I got this."

Peter sighed and watched the younger man hauling himself out of the car. He knew enough about dignity to give Neal the time he needed to do it on his own. The two men walked slowly to the door; Neal swayed and Peter stayed just close enough to catch him if need be.

The house felt empty without El, but Peter tried his best to be as good a host as his wife would want him to be: he helped Neal out of his jacket, sat him on the couch, got him a glass of water and went to prepare the guest room. When he returned, he found Neal sound asleep on the couch. Satchmo sat next to the couch and tipped his head up to Peter with what could have been a questioning look.

"You take care of him, boy, will you?"

He rubbed behind the dog's ears. He flipped a blanket over Neal, wrote a quick note and set it on the coffee table where Neal couldn't miss it. Peter took one more long look at the man sleeping on his couch and left, quietly, trying his best not to wake Neal up again. If someone had told him a few years ago that he would leave his house alone with Neal Caffrey in it... Peter chuckled. He got back in the car and took a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose; Neal had been right, he could use some sleep but it would have to wait; first he needed to bring a little light into this chaos.

Peter's phone rang before he could even start the car. He picked up immediately when he saw Richter's ID on the small screen.

"Helene, what's up?"

Richter sounded as if she was in a hurry.

"He's not Oberon."

"Who? What…" The lack of sleep caused Peter to take a little longer than normal to process the information… Of course, it made perfect sense. Who else would have kidnapped Anna if not the one who was behind all of it?

"The guy we shot?"

"Yes. Nothing's confirmed yet, but his fingerprints popped up in one of the FBI databases. He's a known hatchet man, wanted for several murders, numerous aggravated assaults and extortion. He's part of your most-wanted list."

"Damn it… Should've known. It was too easy to shut him down."

He knew the steps they would take next but he was stopped in his thoughts once again.

"There's something else."

Please, don't let it be bad news.

"What is it?"

"David Hall got another email."


	11. Ties

Despite the fact that nobody needs a shot to get through the hiatus anymore – thank God, we have our guys back – I hope you, who are still following this story will hang in there with me a little longer. Thanks to **canadianscanget** and **mam711** for their help. Enjoy!

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><p>Neal could not really decide whether it was a light heaviness or a heavy lightness that filled his head. He wasn't allowed to take pain relievers other than Tylenol, and that didn't really do the job. The elevator ride to the 21st floor at the Bureau didn't exactly help either. Now, however, might be his last chance to join the team on this investigation and he wouldn't step back because of a headache. Peter kept looking him up and down, worry written all over his face as though he might suddenly collapse. Neal felt like telling him to 'cowboy up', that he had nothing to worry about. He didn't.<p>

Neal was surprised when he looked at Peter and didn't get another deep frown in return, but an almost-suspicious look. Neal smiled. He could handle suspicion far better than worry.

"What did I do?"

Peter looked as if he had to give this question a second thought.

"Neal, could you do me a favor?"

"Uhm, yeah… sure…"

Peter lifted his hand as if he wanted to underline every word with it.

"Could you not be you for once?"

Ouch. Peter immediately noticed Neal's dislike of his request and started to explain.

"I mean, you're not exactly at your best and I already feel bad for dragging you back into this… but Richter – she isn't cut from the same cloth. She had a problem with you from the beginning and now she's cornered. The press is on her back just waiting to get a good story, we still have no proper lead, the case seems to get more complicated every day, and her man Schröder is out of play with a lung contusion… I'm begging you here, Neal."

"No, you're not begging. You're practically ordering me to keep my mouth shut and do as I'm told without asking questions or speaking my mind."

Neal looked into Peter's eyes and expected another staring contest, maybe because they did those more than they should these days. But Peter wasn't trying to challenge him; he didn't even seem mad. When the agent started talking, his voice was quiet, assuasive.

"I'd never ask you to keep your mouth shut. I have a bad feeling; had it since we became part of this task force on these heists. I need you to be smart, to be brilliant, but… don't play games, Neal. Oberon seems to think he's your Moriarty. Don't fall, that's all I'm asking you to do."

The elevator stopped and Neal was more than glad the conversation was interrupted by the less private atmosphere of the open-plan office. Peter might have exaggerated a little but he wasn't a guy who made a mountain out of a molehill. Neal was a little disconcerted by Peter's strange attitude towards this investigation. He had hoped his handler would need him to defuse the tension that had built over the past few days but the longer Neal thought about it the clearer it became that Peter would never have asked him to play David Hall again if they didn't need him. The only reason Neal was working on this case, despite the fact that he had been attacked not even two days ago, was the basic necessity of his presence.

Peter stopped in his tracks when he realized Neal wasn't following him to his office but had loosened his tie, and walked over to his desk.

"Anything I can do for you? Special invitation? Red carpet?"

Neal didn't react, and opened the drawer FBI agents generally used for their gun. He put his silk tie, colored in strident cyan, into the only empty spot and quickly went through the choices he had left. He went for a dark silver-gray tie and watched Peter's eyes widen. Neal smirked as he straightened the tie and secured a sedate tie-clip to it.

"Hey, you want me to get Richter on my side… This will help."

"You look five years older."

"I used to call it the 'Federal Style' but then I met Diana."

Peter cocked his head. "And then what?"

Neal shrugged. "I found out that not all federal agents dress like you."

The agent rolled his eyes and motioned for Neal to get going. Before they reached the conference room Peter briefly clasped Neal's shoulder while opening the door for him. Neal wondered if Peter did it more to reassure himself than anything else.

The room was crowded, stuffy, claustrophobic, and the noise hit Neal like a wall. A wave of nausea washed over him. He hesitated to step fully into the room and to his surprise was saved by none other than Commissar Richter.

"Mr. Caffrey, good to see you again. May I speak to you in private, please?"

Peter opened his mouth to say something but Neal decided that it might be a good opportunity to show the German policewoman that he was trustworthy enough to handle an operation like this. He nodded and left the room, waiting for Richter to do the same. Neal leaned against the railing and hoped they would go somewhere he could sit down. It annoyed him that his body refused to work the way it should. Richter finally made her way out of the conference room and stopped in front of him for a once-over before she asked him to follow her into the small office the FBI had cleared out for her.

"Please, take a seat."

Neal started to feel uncomfortable when he couldn't read anything from the way Richter was treating him. He sat down and waited for her to continue. He didn't have to look hard to see that she was paler than usual and that she tried to keep her hands folded to stop them from shaking. Probably too much caffeine or too little sleep, Neal figured.

"How are you, Mr. Caffrey?"

He wasn't sure if she wanted a real answer or if she was just trying to be polite. Given Richter's apparent definition of politeness, he bet she was seriously interested in his well-being. Neal cleared his throat to steady his voice.

"Been better."

"Agent Burke told me you were unconscious for quite a while…"

"Uhm, yeah… but not because of a serious injury. It was the… you know, uhm… They say there's this spot between the shoulders and…" Once again Neal regretted that he had never had any combat training. "Never mind. I'm fine. Just a slight concussion."

Richter nodded and leaned back in her chair.

"Agent Burke filled you in?"

"David Hall received an email from Oberon, who was amused that he and Hall had obviously betrayed each other. Oberon wants to give Hall a second chance and promised to play fair this time. What I don't know is why you want me to play Hall after you made it very clear you didn't want me on your team?"

Richter's face was impossible to read. "I don't understand it. Why? There is more than one thief in New York to hire. Why Hall? Why take the risk and work with someone who has already shown that he can't be trusted?"

Neal noticed that Richter had problems keeping up her sharp British school accent. Her natural German accent sneaked into her words, which made them sound sloppy. Richter was nervous. She was afraid to make a misstep.

"Do you really want to know my opinion, Commissar Richter?"

The policewoman smiled and her eyes showed a glimpse of the menace to the criminal world she could be.

"Please, enlighten me."

"Oberon has Anna von der Hagen; I'd bet my life on that. But – and this is important – he can't get his hands on the manuscript she took without a good thief. So it's logical for him to appreciate, and therefore choose, the thief that he now knows can't be easily fooled. He's under pressure. Taking a hostage isn't that easy in a world full of cameras, cell phones and computers. But he can't take the risk and kill her before he has the missing Nibelungen manuscript."

"Are you sure she was the one who took it?"

Neal nodded without hesitation. "Yes. But don't ask me where she hid it. I have no idea. But I think we'll find out if we contact Oberon and tell him Hall wants to work with him again."

Richter didn't say anything for a moment. Neal didn't dare interrupt her thoughts; he knew he was on a slippery slope with the head detective.

"Oberon wants Hall to take a room at the Paramount Hotel. No further instructions. We tried once to outsmart him and it didn't work. I want you to know that I'm not using you as bait. I just… I don't need another agent trying to be a con. I need David Hall. I need you." She straightened up and made sure he was looking at her. "This is dangerous, Mr. Caffrey. I've talked to Agent Burke and he made it clear that he isn't happy with my decision to send you in. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"With all due respect for Agent Burke, I think I'm your best chance to get this guy behind bars."

A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders.

"Then I suggest you talk to Agent Burke. We'll have a suite ready for you tonight."

Neal shook his head.

"No suite. Book me a Broadway Classic room."

Richter seemed impressed.

"I thought Neal Caffrey wouldn't pass on a chance to enjoy some luxury…"

Neal was relieved to find a smirk on her face and returned a warm smile.

"You're right, I wouldn't-"

"-but David Hall would."

"Now we're talking the same language..."

Richter chuckled and shook her head.

"I'm starting to understand what they see in you." She stood and Neal did the same. "You should make sure you get some rest. We'll have your back."

"I know."

Peter was waiting in front of his own office and Neal was already on his way to talk to him when he heard Richter calling his name again.

"Oh, and Mr. Caffrey…" She had her arms crossed. "I like your tie. But if you think I'm that easily manipulated, I'll show you what I can do with that spot between your shoulders."

Neal waited for her to smile but instead she turned and disappeared into her office. Neal cringed; he hoped Oberon wouldn't be too big a problem since he apparently wasn't even able to con a suit anymore.

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><p>an: Excuse the Reichnbach reference... I had to put it in as long as so many people get it and before I have to rely on the few who read the books. ^^


	12. Nature Boy

Guys, I wrote my exam about medieval manuscripts today and he asked EVERYTHING, literally, except for the Nibelungen manuscripts. Okay, I'm done pitying myself. Hope you enjoy the story.

And as always, my awesome betas **canadianscanget** and **mam711** – You rock and not only because you correct this story for me. Thank you so much!

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><p>Peter handed Neal the GPS watch while Diana took off the tracking anklet. Peter took a last look at his partner and had to admit that the man in front of him had little in common with the Neal Caffrey he knew.<p>

The con man was wearing dark blue jeans and a black and white plaid shirt with his dark locks falling in loose strands. While Neal usually seemed to get his confidence from an apparently-natural elegance, he now seemed to calm this nonchalance down to a relaxed coolness. David Hall looked more like a cowboy than a thief, and Peter prayed to God that Neal knew what he was doing. Neal had made it clear that Oberon would be suspicious of his every move: meeting points, phone calls, people passing by, the smallest of things. And even if Oberon didn't show, he'd have someone watching. Neal was even concerned that the watch, and responding on the small transceiver, could tip Oberon off. Peter knew that it was necessary to lay low but it didn't mean he had to like it. Neal must have read his thought because suddenly Caffrey was back with all the charm his smile was able to carry.

"Relax, Peter… Everything will be fine. Dead men don't wear plaid, right?"

"Not funny, Neal."

"Yeah, you're probably right – a terrible movie. Not everything's better in black and white… Look, Peter, nothing bad will happen to me. I probably only need to be there to assure Oberon that David Hall isn't an FBI setup; he'll send a message with further instructions or somebody to tell me where to meet and that's that."

Peter sighed. "I hope so. Because I'm not willing to deal with all your girlfriends if something goes wrong."

Neal gave him a huffish look but suddenly turned serious when he realized how close they were to the Paramount Hotel.

"Okay, let me out at the corner. It's just a short cab ride from here."

Jones pulled the van over and Peter gave Neal a nod before he closed the door behind him.

"Take care. And remember – we can make it to your room in less than ten minutes if you need us."

Neal nodded and turned around. Within a few seconds he was out of sight, blending in with the crowd as if he was like everyone else in New York. Peter closed the door and found Diana staring at him with her arms crossed and one eyebrow lifted.

"Okay, boss, what's going on?"

Peter didn't even try to hide his concerns from Diana; she knew him far too well.

"Ah, I don't know… This isn't like any other job. It's personal."

Diana chuckled. "In which world does that stop Caffrey from doing his job? I'm pretty sure his feelings for von der Hagen are not strong enough to distract him."

"No, that's not what I mean. Six high-profile manuscripts – each and every one of them worth a fortune – would you go after the missing one when it comes with that much heat? No, you wouldn't. This isn't about money. Oberon wants this specific manuscript and, guaranteed, he'll do whatever it takes to get it."

Diana didn't look surprised. "So, what do you think we can do to stop him?"

Over his headphone Peter could hear Neal hailing a cab.

"Honestly? We can do little more than sit and wait. We play along, hope Oberon makes a mistake at some point, and we make sure Neal makes it out in one piece."

* * *

><p>Peter checked the time again; they'd been waiting for more than seven hours. When he caught himself whistling, he cursed and reached for his phone. He heard Neal's phone ring over his headphones and dropped them when the con man answered.<p>

"Hey, what's up?"

"Neal, can you please stop the humming? I won't get 'Nature Boy' out of my head for the next three days."

He heard Neal laugh on the other end.

"Sorry, didn't think about it, just trying to stay awake."

"You wanna get yourself some coffee?"

"Well... am I allowed to go to the bar?"

"Would David Hall go to the bar at two in the morning?"

There was a short moment of silence before Neal answered.

"I AM David Hall, so I guess he would."

Diana laughed. She'd heard everything over her headphones, and spoke up to make sure Neal would hear her through Peter's phone. "Was that a confession, Caffrey?"

"For the Whitney heist? I won't confess to anything I haven't done."

Peter snorted. "Yeah, right. You should stop talking now, Neal. Enjoy the bar."

The next hour was filled with background noises from the hotel bar and Neal slurping his coffee. Peter used it to relax a little bit. They were unable to have eyes on the room but Richter had her people undercover to watch almost every area in the hotel. When the commissar in the bar informed the team that Caffrey had left the bar, Peter straightened up again.

He heard Neal opening the door to his room, followed by a sudden piercing noise that caused Peter and Diana to jump in unison and pull the headphones away.

"What the hell!"

Diana pushed a few buttons but couldn't locate the source of the disturbance.

"No idea. Possibly acoustic feedback."

Peter turned down the volume, straining to pick up any recognizable sounds – Neal was talking to someone.

"Dammit, Diana, someone's with him."

"Someone's definitely tampering with the signal."

Peter called Jones over his earpiece; he'd been coordinating and monitoring the other teams with Richter.

"Anyone see anything suspicious on Neal's floor?"

"We're getting interference with the transceivers of the two closest UCs. Richter's sent the UC on room service to their location."

Peter cursed. Neal's voice no longer carried faintly through his headphones. He couldn't even get a signal for Neal's cell phone. Then as quickly as it had started, the interference stopped. Peter was met with silence – nothing but undisturbed silence. He tried to call Neal once more but again without any success. He told himself to stay calm until the team inside the hotel updated him on what was really going on.

Two long minutes later he had his answer: Neal's room was empty.

Peter stared at the screen in front of him; the blinking GPS signal that gave Neal's position had also returned. Only it wasn't moving. He startled when Jones' voice echoed through the van's radio system.

"Peter. There's no signs of a struggle, nothing… Except… they found the watch lying on the bed."


	13. Rat

Once again I lack the words to thank my betas **canadianscanget** and **mam711** enough. I just can hope they know how much their help is appreciated. Same goes for my readers and your feedback, you are great. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>The one thing Neal hated more than using guns was having one pointed at him. But Neal Caffrey wouldn't have survived this long if something like an armed man waiting casually in his hotel room caused him to panic.<p>

"David Hall?"

Neal closed the door behind him but remained standing where he was.

"Who wants to know?"

The man started laughing.

"Thomas Bishop. I think we have an appointment."

Bishop, of course. Now Neal recognized the thief from the blurry pictures they had gotten from the surveillance footage.

"I presume we do. Would you mind lowering your gun? I prefer talking business when I don't have to worry about getting shot because of an itchy trigger finger."

The man laughed again and walked towards Neal while he pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. He never lowered the weapon in his hand.

"Oh no, afraid I can't. See, I really think we should make this conversation a little bit more private, if you understand what I mean."

Bishop put the sheet of paper on the table between them. Neal stepped closer and realized he was looking at a city map. Several spots were marked with a red cross.

"I don't understand…"

"Take a closer look."

Neal studied the map again and his heart started to beat faster when realization hit as to what each of the red crosses meant – June's mansion, the Burkes' house, the apartments of Jones and Diana, several of Mozzie's hideouts, Sara's place. He forced a smile onto his lips and shrugged as if this was all a misunderstanding. He knew it was a long shot but he would at least try to deny what the man in front of him obviously knew.

"Look, I didn't came here to play games, I jus-"

"Stop." Bishop's voice was angry when he cut him off. "Games are exactly what you came for, Mr. Caffrey. Let me tell you this: the rules have changed. You'll come with me, right now."

Neal suddenly didn't feel comfortable in his own skin. It had always been his weak spot – underestimating his opponent. But usually his bad habit only put himself in danger, not the people around him. He had no idea how this guy had gathered that much information, but right now that didn't matter; he needed to stall until Peter arrived.

"And what if I decide to stay where I am? What are you gonna do? Shoot me?"

"No. Not you. Your girl. And then probably your colleague's girlfriend. Or your partner's wife. Or maybe I'll go for the little bald guy first. But please, feel free to stay and find out if I'm bluffing."

Neal wondered why the cavalry hadn't already arrived. Richter had people in the hotel. They should know he wasn't alone by now.

"Empty threats. The only thing that'll happen is that you'll get arrested by the FBI."

Bishop looked amused and even more so when Neal wasn't able to hide his confusion anymore.

"They won't come. Your little toy watch has technical difficulties, my friend. Even if they show up here before we get out… Don't make a mistake and assume I'm working alone. I can assure you, nothing will happen to you if you follow me right now. Your friends, however… So, Mr. Caffrey, will you please stop insulting my intelligence and do as I say?"

Neal swallowed hard. He didn't really see any other option besides going with Bishop. He had his doubts that Bishop was the man behind everything. Until now he had gotten the impression that the thief who stole the Codex Sangallensis was just another one of Oberon's puppets. He had no idea if anything about this was a bluff but he wasn't willing to take the risk and find out.

"What do you want me to do?"

Bishop smiled and told him to get rid of the watch, then to leave the room. They entered the hallway. While Neal had hoped there was someone waiting for them outside his room, there was no one to be seen. He heard footsteps around the corner and for a moment he thought of stalling but if this was a bystander walking down the hallway he couldn't take the chance of what Bishop might do.

The distinctively taller man told him to take the stairs. He made the urgency of his request clear by pushing Neal's shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. They reached the door to the next floor and when they found the hallway as abandoned as the one before, Bishop told him to open the first room to the left. Neal took the keycard he was given and entered the suite. It was as stylish as every room in the hotel but sizable compared to the room Richter had booked for David Hall.

Two young women, hardly older than twenty, were lounging on the spacious couch, and looked at them unenthusiastically. Bishop smiled at them.

"You enjoying yourselves, ladies?"

Both of them nodded, with the smaller one answering, "Sure thing. Thanks for letting us crash here; the place is awesome!"

Bishop took a charming bow and winked.

"My pleasure. Now, if you'll excuse us… Have a very nice evening."

Neal was pushed into the suite's second bedroom. Bishop shut the door and sat down on the bed, the gun still aimed squarely at Neal.

"All right, Mr. Caffrey… I suggest you make yourself comfortable." Bishop waved the gun towards the floor in the far corner.

"What happens now?"

"We wait."

Bishop didn't say anything else, so Neal sank to the floor in the spot he was directed to. He leaned his head back against the wall and took the opportunity to look around. The room was the smallest one in the suite but still four times bigger than his former prison cell. There was a window but the heavy curtains were drawn; no real chance of giving his team any sign of where he was and certainly not a suitable exit point. He was glad to be sitting as far from Bishop as possible.

The question of whether the FBI had already realized what was going on was answered an hour later. Neal heard someone knocking and Bishop immediately stood to get closer to him. His voice was a whisper but sharp and deadly cold.

"You keep your mouth shut or Professor von der Hagen is dead by tomorrow morning. You got it?"

Neal nodded and tried to make out any voices in the room next door. He couldn't understand a lot but there was no doubt that he heard Jones' voice. They were asking around, trying to find someone who may have seen something, anything. They probably had a picture of him; no doubt the two young women Bishop had invited to "crash" were being very cooperative and telling the agents they hadn't seen the man in the picture. Neal had to admire Bishop's methods – a simple but very effective plan. Unfortunately, a plan that was contrary to everything he, Peter and the task force had been working on.

The Interpol task force didn't have enough people or time to stay focused on the hotel. They'd probably observe it for the next 24 hours but would soon conclude that Neal had left the hotel. They would look for other clues, other leads, someone would suggest he'd run, Peter would chastise them, but the last thing anyone would do was go back and check out the suite of two young women trying to have a nice time in Manhattan.

As soon as Bishop heard the entry door close in the other room he relaxed and finally lowered his gun.

"You know, I always thought the infamous Neal Caffrey wouldn't follow my orders so easily. Have the Feds gotten that much under your skin?"

If Bishop was up for a nice little chat, so was he. Maybe the man would let his guard down at some point. And if Neal managed to escape, the smallest bit of information could make a difference.

"Nah, I'm not the one with the interesting story to tell… You stole the Codex Sangallensis in St. Gall. I'm impressed. Tried to do it back in my time in Europe. How did you do it?"

Bishop squinted and smirked. "What! You think I'm that stupid? Confess to a snitch? Or do you prefer 'rat'?"

For someone with a hand of cards as good as Bishop's, the man was overly concerned with being taken for a fool, at least in Neal's opinion. Real confidence bragged or remained completely silent but never needed affirmation.

"You're the one with the gun, Mr. Bishop. You can call me whatever you want."

Bishop lifted his chin, apparently satisfied with Neal's compliance.

"I think 'rat' is fine with me. Because that's what you are, right? Standing there, posing as someone you aren't."

As opposed to whom? It made Neal laugh. He realized a moment too late that his chuckling could anger the thief in front of him.

"Sorry, I'm… It's just… I'm not posing as someone I'm not. The Whitney heist? That was me. I might have to work for the FBI but I'm still the one you obviously want… whatever it is you want me for."

Bishop opened his mouth as though he'd just now realized what they were there for.

"Right… The job… You said you had some interest in the Nibelungen manuscripts?"

"I do."

The expression on Bishop's face could have been used as an illustration for the word 'devious'.

"Good. Then you certainly won't have a problem working on them."


	14. Achilles' Heel

Ah, what is it with this website? Let's give it another shot...

* * *

><p>"No offense, Agent Burke, but I think you have to agree your judgment is a little bit clouded right now…"<p>

It was so quiet that the proverbial pin could have been heard in the next room. Peter tried to keep maintain his composure but the growling undertone in his voice gave away how angry he really was.

"Just to make sure I got you right, Officer Green… Are you implying that being concerned over a missing member of my team is an overreaction?"

Richter licked her lips and tried to defuse the tension between the FBI agent and the Interpol officer. "Peter, I'm sure that's not what Richard was trying to say. Am I right?"

She looked expectantly at Richard Green who never stopped mirroring Peter's angry glare.

"Come on, Burke. It's not as if your soft spot for that CI was a secret."

"He's a member of my team."

"He's a criminal!"

Peter had a ready answer for the self-righteous bastard but was taken aback by Richter's stern look and realized Green wasn't the only one in the room who had doubts about Neal's innocence. Peter knew he should have doubts too; it was his job to have doubts, especially when it was about Neal. Very often the question wasn't _"What is Caffrey capable of?"_ but more _"What isn't Caffrey capable of?"_

Peter also knew Neal better than anyone else in the room, and neither Richter, nor Green, nor anyone else would be able to convince him that his partner was willingly working with someone as violent as Oberon. He took a deep breath to keep himself from spitting out what was on his mind and tried to talk some sense into Green again.

"If you treat Neal like a suspect on this, if you put out an international arrest warrant instead of a Missing Person's, his photo will show up everywhere. A rogue consultant, do you have any idea how the media will treat this?"

Green smiled. "We'll make sure it doesn't make the headlines…"

Peter couldn't decide if Green was stubborn or just plain stupid. "You have heard about investigative journalism in this country, right?"

He turned to Richter when Green didn't even flinch. "Helene, please… You asked me if you could trust Neal, and I told you to trust me. I know it seems to make sense that Neal changed sides but he would never – never – do this. He had the chance to run more than once and he didn't. There is no way he'd let me down to partner up with a coldblooded killer."

Richter sighed and shook her head. "I don't know. He's a pretty good con. But maybe that's what made him a target." She looked down for a moment, apparently undecided about which direction to head in for now. Peter didn't have the authority to stop Green from putting out a warrant, but as a liaison officer he wasn't able to sidestep the head detective of the task force.

"I know: a warrant would be more effective for finding him but if it draws too much attention, if Neal turns into a liability because his face shows up everywhere… Damn it, even the Times was on the Nibelungen heists; they won't step back from a story like this. God knows what'll happen when this bastard decides it's time to get rid of Neal."

Peter had been talking way too fast, and maybe, in the end, it was his nervousness that finally made Richter realize how important it was for Peter to have everyone backing Neal as being part of the team, to know that they would do everything possible to get him back safely.

"All right. You can have it your way, Peter; we'll play along."

Green's eyes widened with disbelief. "Helene, please tell me you're not falling for this."

Peter felt his hands clench to fists. "Oh, come on, can't you just do me a favor and-"

"It's okay, Peter." Richter looked at the Interpol officer as she cut Peter off, her lips tight, her fingers interlaced. "I am not falling for anything, Richard. Caffrey hasn't given me any reason to believe he's guilty of anything in regard to our case. If Peter says he's one of us, we're going to treat him like one of us. Until I say otherwise, getting Caffrey back is our number one priority. He's also our best chance of finding this Oberon."

Green looked as if he was in the wrong movie. "But-"

"I don't want to hear it. If you have a problem with my strategy, Richard, feel free to send a report to Lyon as to why you think the head detective for this task force is not capable of deciding where to go with this investigation. Let's see how they react."

Richter's voice was calm and even. She had made it perfectly clear that she wouldn't allow anyone questioning her authority on this. Peter was thankful she put her trust in him; he relaxed a little bit knowing that Neal would be a priority for everyone, not just his own team.

Green cleared his throat and gave Peter one last scowl before heading out the door. Now the agent understood why Neal had mentioned that Green's icy looks creeped him out. The thought that Neal had been joking in his office not even a week ago and was now officially missing made Peter feel queasy. He should have listened to his gut and never agreed to send Neal in as David Hall.

"We'll find him." Helene's soft words made him realize that she was watching him.

"Thank you. You know… for not listening to Green."

Richter frowned. "Oh, I listened. This is the right thing to do for now. I won't lie… If anything shows up, anything at all that links Caffrey to Oberon and the heists, I won't hesitate to take every bit of help Interpol offers to find them. That includes issuing an international warrant. We definitely could use more people; you know that."

Peter rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I know. And believe me, a part of me wishes Neal had changed sides."

"Because then you wouldn't have to worry about him being killed over this?"

It wasn't really a question and Peter was once again grateful he was able to work with someone who was a lot smarter than Green. "Yes. And because I've caught him before."

She tried to offer him a weak smile. "And you think it would be easy to do it again, if he was on the opposite side?"

"Not easy. But Neal has an Achilles' heel."

"And what would that be?"

"Conscience. He has second thoughts."

* * *

><p>Good news travels fast, bad news travels faster.<p>

Peter was trying for what felt like the thousandth time to understand what Neal was saying on the hotel room recording. But once again, all he heard was fragments of words under the shrieking sound of the interference that blocked out the most important parts of the conversation. Another hour. He'd give himself another hour, then he would try to find something else – statements, surveillance footage, whatever he could get his hands on. Anything. He was still hoping to find some straw to grasp at.

When Diana entered his office, she had that look. Peter knew it all too well: it said 'Caffrey' and 'trouble' and 'urgent' all at once. Peter leaned back in his chair; he didn't dare ask.

"You won't like this, boss."

If Neal had done something stupid, he would kick his ass.

"Neal?"

"We don't know yet. But…"

Diana looked miserable. Yes, he would most definitely kick Neal's ass.

"But what…?"

"The Axis Bank called ten minutes ago."

Peter hated where this was going. "And?"

"And. The manager wants to talk to you, and only you. Personally. I told him I was on your team but he still didn't want to tell me anything. When I said that I wouldn't get you on the phone without an explanation, he said they were robbed sometime yesterday."

"I don't have time for another case."

"The thief only emptied one safety deposit box and left a note: gave strict orders to call White Collar and ask for Special Agent Peter Burke."

"Put him through."

Breaking into a bank, emptying a deposit box, and leaving him a note? Who else but Neal Caffrey?

"Yes, this is Special Agent Burke… Yes, Peter… Seriously?... Fine… Domestic… Cartoon… Tango… Pigeons…Tie… Yes, I did. That wasn't one of the questions, was it?... No, I am not answering that, just fax the note… Yes, yes, I will. Thank you."

Peter caught Diana's questioning look. "Apparently, there was a threat of another robbery if the note wasn't given directly to me, but only after I answered all the _skill testing_ questions."

Diana bit her lip and went to retrieve the fax. She handed it to Peter, who immediately started laughing when he saw the note.

_"T m f m z M u e w z v g u b a F q e p w t P q p i w q z a q h m d q v j w d u i x q a v Q h w z b s r w i p w a e t q k l q e e p c Q q v k v g b b m h b t q a l m w v w a a i p m v m k w c p q h m G s c P q i r i V w v i a V c v i A m z i i d q v U s h l q m M p m d m r w u l m e e t i b l m e c x x w T m u e l q u m f z q i s m v f w I r v m a t s k w m z a p q z m w p q p q h b t m u e v g a k v q b b n v w y S iv t e z c l m R q v h U a h h m m m v l E t q f u e g n m b l m k k ir p q t x c w g n q r l e w u i b t q v k w z J q w p a x Q l i h m v s q p m i a p m b p i e m v b w j g b Q a w z b b e s q i v c z u a s w B a w l e v s m z s c e Q u w w d z g K c q a a M a t w c p l t i d i t u a b i v q l b s g a c B l q e q a t z a j i f t k i o s w p b q q m r w z c w g b w k m f i v i e o w n j m q u i o m d . V G"_

"Oh, it's definitely Neal. He loves Vigenère cipher. I need a _tabula recta_."

Diana smiled. "I bet Jones has some program that could decipher the note for you."

"You're probably right. Give him a copy; let's see what's behind the code."

Diana took the sheet again and was about to leave the room when Peter called her back again. "Oh, and Diana? Without going into details, tell Richter we have a lead on Neal."

* * *

><p>an: Okay, hope you liked it… Now, who can crack the code? ^^ As always thanks to my incredibly helpful betas **mam711 **and of course** canadianscanget**, who can take credit for the '_skill testing questions'_. And if you loved the part as much as I do, you know how happy I am to have her help on this story; wouldn't be as much fun without her.


	15. Paranoid

Okay, at least one of you cracked the code and has received a virtual cookie from me. Thank you guys for trying so hard to decrypt the code; it was a lot of fun to watch you playing… I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter.

As always, thanks to canadianscanget and mam711, the wonderful betas I have the pleasure to work with.

* * *

><p>Codes had never irritated Peter while he had been chasing Neal; it had been part of the hunt, a thrill that had kept him alert and amused. He enjoyed elaborate and intricate riddles and puzzles and could easily while away hours solving them. But not now; now, after twenty minutes of running the note through various programs, all Jones had been able to confirm was that it wasn't simple Vigenère cipher or simple Caesar cipher or simple ROT13. Basically, it wasn't any simple cipher at all. Finally, after another ten frustrating minutes of failure, Peter grabbed his jacket. He wondered why he had ever assumed Neal would do anything the simple way. As a con man Neal was schooled not to think in black and white, and maybe – just maybe – Peter knew the right person to get behind Neal's thoughts.<p>

Peter still didn't know why it had to be this particular bench or why he had to tap it with a newspaper or why he had to pretend to read said newspaper, but today, he didn't really care. Mozzie sat down on the bench behind him almost immediately. When Peter turned around to look at Neal's nervous little friend, he wondered if he shouldn't have given Jones more time to crack the code. Mozzie looked nervous and – even for his standards – incredibly pale.

"You all right, Mozzie?"

"Why would you ask, Suit? I thought this had something to do with Neal. Isn't this about Neal?" Mozzie seemed to ponder something. "Oh my God, are they testing HAARP again? Did the government trigger an earthquake? Did the poles flip? Is the FBI in on this?"

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh, he most definitely should have given Jones more time.

"Calm down; this isn't about a covert operation."

"So you admit that HAARP is a covert operation?"

"No. Listen to me."

Peter waited for Mozzie to calm down – by Mozzie's standard of calm – before he continued. "Neal's been taken."

"What?"

Mozzie turned around and glared at Peter as if he wanted confirmation he'd heard the agent wrong. If the look alone wasn't evidence enough for Peter that this wasn't Neal pulling a con, the heartfelt worry in Mozzie's anxious voice negated the faint shadow of doubt that this might be some scheme.

"When did this happen? Why didn't you inform me?"

Peter sighed. "I'm telling you now. Look, we think Neal broke into a –"

"Oh, no, no. Nice try, Suit. Neal finally had the good sense to abandon –"

"Mozzie!"

Peter's low growl broke the start of the little man's rant.

"I… We. Don't have time for this. Neal's in serious trouble."

Mozzie snorted and crossed his arms pointedly.

"I'm not the source of the trouble, Mozzie. The man we've been chasing is somehow forcing Neal –"

The slight drop of Mozzie's crossed arms suggested that he was still at least listening.

Peter sighed. "Neal broke into a bank last night; he opened only one deposit box, and left a note – explicitly addressed to me."

Mozzie raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"It's encrypted."

"Ah." Mozzie grunted with what seemed to be a tone of approval before putting out his hand.

Peter stifled the desire to roll his eyes and handed Mozzie a copy of the note they had received from Axis.

Mozzie only glanced at it before he scoffed at Peter.

"This is Vigenère. Suit, if you can't crack this, I finally understand why you had to take Neal in as your consultant."

Every time Peter had to talk to Mozzie he got the feeling he was one step behind Neal's criminal companion. Which was crazy because if he wanted to, he could bring Mozzie down within a heartbeat, right? _Right_?

"Are you trying to explain that you can decode this without any tool?"

Mozzie shook his head. "You're unbelievable. Of course not. I'd have to take this, figure out the keyword. I'd bet my life he encrypted it twice. Neal always encrypts his messages twice."

"Okay, do it. Whatever you have to do. We have to find him."

The other man hesitated for a moment. "Is it the guy behind the Nibelungen heists?"

Peter nodded without so much as thinking about it. "We think so."

For a moment Mozzie was speechless. Peter stood and without giving it a second thought, he sat down on the other bench, right next to Mozzie. He hated to ask again, felt as if he'd invaded some private space, but he had to make sure, for Neal's sake.

"Are you sure everything's all right?"

Mozzie sat upright and seemed to focus on something invisible in front of his feet. "Too many people I know have been hurt over this."

If it was Neal, Peter would have touched his arm, his shoulder. But it wasn't Neal and Peter had no idea how to comfort the paranoid, eccentric cohort of Neal's.

"I promise you, Mozzie, I'll do everything in my power to get him back. I found him twice, remember?"

Mozzie smiled, but it didn't look very reassuring. "You can't even crack his code."

Frustration was a feeling Peter wasn't used to, and he didn't want to let it take over now.

"You're right. But that's what I have you for. You think anyone stands a chance against you and me teamed up?"

Mozzie's smile turned into something more hopeful. "I sincerely doubt it."

Peter stood and nodded as convincingly as he could. "There you have it. I have to get back, find out more about the bank where Neal left this."

"What did he steal, anyway?"

Peter cut him off with a clear gesture of his hand. "Can't talk about it."

"Right. You don't know." Mozzie waved the note triumphantly.

"You'll keep me in the loop?"

Mozzie stood and lifted his chin. "I'll tell you everything of any importance to you, Suit. As long as it helps to find Neal."

The two men nodded, strange allies with the same mission. Peter just hoped that Mozzie would crack the code, and hopefully sooner than later.

* * *

><p><em>Sooner<em> turned out to be an understatement. Peter hadn't even made it back to the office before Mozzie called him and asked him to meet. Mozzie suggested Peter's place and without hesitating, Peter turned the car around and drove straight to his house. He didn't have to wait long for Mozzie, who had a huge plastic bag with him and looked kind of determined. It was so unlike Mozzie, it actually caused Peter to smile.

"You've cracked the code?"

Mozzie waved his free hand. "Well, yes, obviously. It's beyond my imagination how you're able to solve the Times crossword puzzle. I told you: Vigenère, encrypted twice."

Peter nodded, satisfied with the breakthrough. "Great. What's in the bag?"

He let Mozzie in, who went immediately to the kitchen and put down whatever it was he'd brought along.

"I need you sharp, Suit. And Neal mentioned in his note you might need this."

Mozzie opened the bag and pulled out a lime green coffeemaker. Peter shook his head in disbelief. He had asked El to buy a new coffeemaker on her way back home, but her sister had asked her if she wanted to stay for another week. Peter hadn't told her about Neal, didn't want to get her worried, even though he missed her warm embrace right now. While morning coffee couldn't replace the presence of his wife, it sure beat instant, and his failed attempts to enjoy the less-than-soothing tea.

"Wait, what? Neal left a note to make sure I got a coffeemaker?"

Mozzie only nodded – slowly, as if it needed to be slow for Peter to understand.

"Do I have to worm every bit of information out of you?"

Mozzie crossed his arms. "First, I want to hear the whole story. Why you think Neal's missing? Why rob a bank? Why you forced him to work after just getting out of hospital? There are laws against forced labor. 'We draw our strength from the very despair in which we have been forced to live. We shall endure.'"

"I'm not sure I'll endure." Peter threw his hands up in frustration before raking them through his hair. He so hoped the coffeemaker worked and wasn't somehow wired for surveillance.

Mozzie had a point: his best friend was missing; when he had been asked for help, the little guy ultimately hadn't hesitated to do whatever he could, and Peter hadn't considered that Mozzie really had been left out in the dark.

"Cesar Chavez." Peter half-whispered the speaker of the quote, then motioned Mozzie to sit down.

When Peter finally had Mozzie filled in on the events of the last few days, he found the worry creeping in as he noted the fear that had settled into Mozzie's eyes.

"Hey, we're gonna find him."

Mozzie's eyes widened. "What if this Oberon just needed Neal to rob the bank? What if he isn't needed anymore? What… What if –"

"No 'what if's', all right?" All the 'what if's' had already played through Peter's thoughts and the last one scared the hell out of him. He had actually ordered Diana to call NYPD and find out if they had any unidentified suspicious deaths but so far no body fit Neal's description. Peter allowed himself to see this as a good sign.

"For once, Suit, you are right. Whatever Oberon is up to, I bet Neal convinced him that he could be useful." Mozzie nodded, visibly convinced. "He has a lot of talents."

Peter smiled. "Yeah, he does. Now, you wanna tell me what's in the note?"

"Ah yes, the note." Mozzie reached for his jacket hanging over his chair and handed Peter a small piece of paper. "Honestly, I have no idea why Neal would encrypt this; nothing worth the secrecy if you ask me."

The agent reached for the decrypted message that was written in sharp strokes of blue ink.

_"Peter, I'm sorry, it's Bishop. He has insider information. I don't know how, which is why I encrypted this. He knows where you live. You, Diana, Jones, June, Sara, even Mozzie. I have no idea what he's up to. He made me break into Anna's locker where she hid the manuscript from Karlsruhe. Find Mozzie and Alex; maybe they can help you find something on Bishop. I have no idea what he wants but I won't take any risks. Too dangerous. I'm sorry. Guess I should have listened to you. This is probably a good time for you to get a new coffeemaker. NC"_

Peter frowned. "Mozzie, are you serious? This basically says that we have a mole…"

"Uhm, yes. But while I appreciate that Neal finally seems to have developed a reasonable suspicion toward Suits…" Mozzie obviously decided to ignore Peter's angry glare. "…I don't really think you have a mole."

"What?"

Mozzie nodded to emphasize what he obviously thought was clear. "Neal seems to be paranoid."

Peter burst out in laughter. This was ridiculous.

"You – of all people – are asserting that Neal is paranoid?"

Mozzie was apparently used to people suddenly bursting into laughter at his comments because he didn't even seem the least bit fazed by Peter's outburst. Mozzie would of course have referred to it as an irrational outburst seated in Peter's belief that the world was in fact round.

Mozzie continued as though Peter was still looking at him as rational.

"Neal believes his kidnapper has knowledge of where to find us, which is why I've already moved and I strongly advise you to do the same. It might look like someone sold everyone around Neal out – but me, Sara… only people on your team would know about us, and neither the Lady Suit nor Jones would do anything like that."

"You moved. Of course you moved, because Neal is the paranoid one." It briefly crossed Peter's mind to question why the man referred to Jones as Jones without the Suit moniker. However, Mozzie had again continued, undeterred by Peter's comments. The fear and nervousness was steadily becoming more pronounced.

"Focus, Suit. Someone's watching us. Your team, maybe the whole task force. Oberon probably knew from the get-go who Neal was. He knows who I am; he knew about my connection to Neal. When I put word on the street about David Hall… Don't you think this guy can put two and two together?"

It hit Peter like a car. Or more like a train. "The Paramount was a setup. But not for David Hall."

Mozzie leaned back when Peter finally understood.

"Oberon didn't need a common thief; he needed Neal."


	16. Original

Took me a while, didn't it? I hope you enjoy, feedback is – as always – highly appreciated.

And thanks to my wonderful betas **canadianscanget** and **mam711**.

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><p>There was a reason cars older than himself made Neal happy. First of all, they always looked like passion cast in steel. Some of the new cars still did, but the zeitgeist dictated security and efficiency, and foremost, the ability to blend into the mainstream. No wonder Peter's Ford looked like a Volkswagen, a Honda and a Chevrolet all at the same time. Sure, new cars really had their benefits – the gadgets were pretty fancy and they slipped into parking spaces that didn't go well with 'all-American muscle'. But now more than ever, Neal really longed for an old car; they had bigger trunks.<p>

Every time Bishop turned right, Neal's head pushed against the edge of the first aid kit, which was almost ironic. His left cheek burned from scratching over the coarse fabric in the trunk, and slowly but surely the air was getting hotter and staler. Neal hadn't expected it to happen, but he really missed the hostage situation at the motel. The past three days hadn't been exactly comfortable, but at least he had been able to stretch his back every once in a while. Plus – and he almost didn't want to admit it – planning the bank heist had been intriguing: a real challenge.

Axis was known for jewel protection, and breaking into their vault hadn't been a walk through the park. Bishop had been in possession of Anna's keycard to the vault and the actual key to the locker but the bank had strict instructions only to open the locker for Prof. von der Hagen personally. Neal hadn't expected that. From the moment Bishop had shown up at the Paramount, Neal had suspected Anna to be the brains behind the whole thing. Mastermind was a role he easily believed she could play. But Axis: Axis didn't fit the picture, not at all. Why would she make Neal break into a bank, with the risk that he would get caught, or run, or end up in possession of evidence that pointed directly to her as the thief who stole the manuscript from the Historical Society? It didn't make any sense. The only reasonable explanation was the one that Bishop had given him: Anna was a hostage and Neal was the best choice to retrieve the manuscript from the bank's vault. The only thing he couldn't wrap his head around was a reason why he was still alive.

The car slowed down – probably another traffic light – and Neal grunted when he thumped against the metal case behind his back. Neal wondered if he had been wrong all along; maybe Bishop was in fact Oberon. Neal started to understand why Peter was so consumed by this case. It had to be frustrating for an agent of Peter's caliber not to have any idea who you were dealing with – no prime suspect. Neal chuckled quietly when he realized that he had empathy for a fed. It was time for him to stop thinking like his handler and start being Neal Caffrey. It probably wasn't the best idea to provoke Bishop but it couldn't be much worse than the constant pain from the first aid kit and the metal case. Neal removed the safety pin from his waistband, careful not to lose it because of his numb fingers. Handcuffs might have been a problem right now but Bishop had been stupid enough to bind his hands with nylon zip straps. Neal fumbled with the pin and cursed when he accidentally scratched himself but soon pushed the point through the small tunnel that kept the straps tightened. At first he feared the zincked copper was too weak to do the job when the pin started to bend. He'd have to remind himself to take a steel one out with him – just in case he ever got kidnapped again…

Finally, he was able to push the small bar aside that held the straps in place. He stripped off the restraining plastic and opened and closed his fists a few times until the aching numbness left his fingers. He pushed both the case and the first aid kit aside. The few inches he gained weren't enough to stretch out his legs but it was a little something. Neal could have fled, only he knew that would still leave the people close to him in danger. Other than Bishop, the manuscript, and Anna being a hostage, he really had no useful info to bring to Peter if he got free. The note he'd left for Peter had been risky enough. Bishop had been clear: if the authorities had shown up at the bank within an hour someone would have had to pay. In retrospect, Neal wondered if he should have mentioned the Paramount but it probably would have led the agent in the wrong direction. Mozzie and Alex were a better start.

After a few minutes the car stopped once again, and Neal prepared himself for the rough speed-up, but it never came. Instead the engine was turned off and shortly after, Neal was blinking against the bright morning sun.

"What the… Caffrey, do you think I bound your hands just for fun?"

Neal shrugged and only then realized how awkward it had to look, considering that he was still lying on his back.

"I got bored. Thought I'd make myself at home – you know; rearrange the furniture."

Bishop, with his ever-present gun aimed at Neal, smiled and took a step back.

"Get outa there."

Neal crawled out of the trunk and was surprised how much his muscles ached. Could it be that he was already getting too old for stuff like this? Bishop motioned him to get out of the way before he grabbed the metal case with the manuscript in it and closed the trunk. Neal took his opportunity to look around. Bishop had parked the car in an alley so small that he must have had problems opening the driver's door. The buildings around him looked like they were all part of one factory. They were built from the same red brick, and the windows were of dirty milk glass. No witnesses. Neal wanted to tell himself that shabby factory buildings and a lost alley were nothing to worry about but the sweat cooling down his hands told a different story.

"What now?"

Bishop answered Neal's question with a cocky smirk. "Afraid I'll shoot you? Don't worry; I still have plans for you. Get going!"

The other man gestured to the other end of the alley and Neal followed his orders without hesitation. If Bishop wasn't going to kill him… so far, so good. They passed the corner and Neal recognized the area as close to the harbor and no longer wondered why there weren't any cars or people around. When Bishop took out a set of keys and opened a second car parked in front of them, Neal understood Bishop's ploy. And his hopes shattered. Bishop was a ghost – even if Peter checked out the Paramount again, even if the task force was able to find footage of Bishop, even if they were looking for the car, it wouldn't mean a damn thing. Nobody would find anything here: no witnesses; no cameras; no clues as to where they went; no idea if they were in one of the nearby buildings, on a ship, a boat or fleeing in a car. They would disappear into thin air. It was as easy and practical as a crisscross scheme, well thought out and without much room for mistakes – elegant and flawless.

Bishop opened the trunk and Neal sighed before he gave in. There was no use in stalling, no use in causing any problems. Peter wouldn't come. He wouldn't be able to. And Neal was still afraid to even think of what might happen if the red crosses on Bishop's city map turned into targets because he – Neal Caffrey – hadn't been able to _'deliver'_.

Neal took the two new nylon zip straps Bishop handed him and constrained himself. His kidnapper gave him the good advice to not slip the straps again but Neal hadn't planned to anyway. He hadn't felt so helpless in a long time and he hated the feeling. He was the one that planned, that schemed, that conned, with all the exit strategies covered, not the mark, not the patsy along for the ride. When he was cut from daylight again, with more uncomfortable objects digging into his side and pressing against the stitches on his head at each right turn, something in him snapped. Anger hit him like a tidal wave. Whatever Bishop wanted from him, Neal would do it. And he sure as hell would find a way to sabotage Oberon's plans. Neal didn't care anymore if Bishop was behind this or if he was just working for someone else; everyone involved in this scam would go down; Neal would make sure of that.

When Bishop opened the trunk again, Neal was perfectly calm – he didn't even mind the gun anymore. It was clear that he wasn't going to be shot just yet and he had no intention of running. They were in an underground parking lot and it wasn't one you'd find in a well-maintained building. The walls were dark with grime and the air smelled like gasoline and exhaust. Bishop led Neal to a small elevator and pushed the button to the 11th floor.

They entered the floor and Neal found his first impression confirmed. The walls in the hallway were painted in cold peppermint and the carpet, heavy with the scent of cigarettes, alcohol and God knows what else, was worn bare down the center, with a fading diamond pattern visible at the edges. Bishop hadn't said a word since their arrival and he kept silent even now, when he stopped in front of a door and handed Neal the keys. Neal was mildly surprised when the apartment he entered was a lot bigger than he had expected. The ugly carpet was the same but it didn't look quite as used, and the walls had been painted over in white. But mostly, the air wasn't as insufferable as it was in the hallway.

"Last door to the right." Bishop's words cut the silence like a knife.

Neal passed by four other doors and finally opened the last one. The room was without windows, illuminated only by floor lamps, the sort photographers used in their studios. The light focused on the top of a huge table in the middle of the room. In the far corner were two beds, one obviously in use, the other one untouched and apparently clean. Except for that, the room was empty. Neal stepped closer to the table. There were steel boxes, knives, wood, gems, bottles with pitch-black liquid and a whole bunch of feathers. It was almost unbelievable. This was a writer's lab. Neal turned around to Bishop, who smiled and nodded.

"I guess that should be everything you need. The boxes are filled with parchment; you only have to cut it."

Bishop walked over to the corner across from the beds and turned around to Neal again. He held a wooden box Neal hadn't noticed. He didn't want to show his curiosity. He felt a little too much like a trapped cat and realized he'd inclined his head a little bit and knew his plan to look uninterested had failed.

The other man stopped a few feet from Neal and opened the box. Neal gasped for breath. Right in front of him, protected by nothing more than a wooden box, lay manuscripts worth several million dollars. Neal didn't have to count. He already knew there were five pieces, not counting the Karlsruhe manuscript he had stolen for Bishop.

"You… you want me to forge the manuscripts?"

Neal wished he could make Bishop drop his stupid smile. "No. Not at all."

"Then what?"

"I want you to create a new one. Congratulations, Mr. Caffrey, you will make history by writing the original Nibelungen."


	17. Hope

Oh, how I wish I could update more often for you. But real life is extremely demanding right now; it's almost rude… So, thanks to you guys for reading nonetheless. Reviews are as always highly appreciated. And virtual hugs for my betas canadianscanget and mam711 who still bear with me.

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><p>Elizabeth had been a hurricane the first few hours after she had returned home, and now two days later she still seemed mad at him for not telling her about Neal. Peter didn't regret it though – El had been able to spend a week laughing and chatting and relaxing with her sister while he had spent as much time as possible at the office. Elizabeth claimed she understood his motives, yet she had a certain way of tiptoeing around him, while he went through the files he'd brought home from work, that told a different story.<p>

"Can we talk about this?"

El looked as if she had been caught red-handed. "What do you mean?"

She walked over to him, sat down next to him and took his hand. While her hands were so small compared to his own, it never ceased to amaze him how strong her grip was. He let his thumb slide over her knuckles and stayed silent for a moment until El looked at him with that look of hers. The look that could drive him crazy, and the reason he was married to her – an honest invitation to share his thoughts because at the least she would try to understand.

"Peter, what is it?"

Her voice held the same warm, knowing invitation as her look.

"You're roaming."

El chuckled, her eyes sparkling.

"I'm what?"

Peter immediately felt stupid for putting it that way.

"Ah, you know what I mean… You sneak your way to the kitchen… try not to make any sound… The house is way too quiet... You still mad at me for not telling you about Neal right away?"

She sighed and stood, took his chin into her hands and kissed him. Peter felt his shoulders relax and he managed to smile at her when she looked down, shaking her head.

"Honey, I've been watching you doing this job a _long_ time. I know you and I know how you work. And right now, you have that look."

So, apparently he had one of those too.

"Okay, what look?"

"Peter, we all want you to bring Neal home. You have to focus for that and you looked like you were in a different place, as if you're not even here with me. I know I could probably practice tap-dancing right next to you and you wouldn't even notice." She must have sensed his rising guilt because she quickly went further. "And don't you dare feel bad. I don't mind. I'm used to it. Actually think it's attractive."

She gave him a warm sly smile.

Peter drew her close with the hand she was still holding and finally dropped the file he had in his other hand. He wrapped his arms around her, set to enjoy her warm embrace and the soft touch of her lips, when he realized Elizabeth's attention had been drawn to the open file that now lay open on the table.

"El? What is it?"

She frowned and tapped at the picture right on top. "You never told me it was the Paramount where Neal was kidnapped."

"Uhm, didn't think about it…"

Peter knew El was going somewhere with this and he tried to catch up to her thoughts but really couldn't. His wife stood and walked over to the bookshelf. She took out the small book with the contact information of all her former business associates.

"You said this guy is smart, his plans well thought out? How'd he get Neal out of the Paramount with everyone watching and all the security cameras?"

"What? I don't…"

Her look left no doubts that she already knew the answer.

"The delivery entrance, right?"

"Right."

When they hadn't found any other lead they went back to the Paramount and started to scan through the surveillance footage from the day Neal had gone missing up to the day he had broken into the Axis Bank. The footage had substantiated their suspicion that Bishop must have planned everything up front because he had avoided all security cameras. They had found out pretty fast that Neal could never have gotten out through the main entrance; the hotel's security had that one covered completely, as well as the underground parking lot. The only possibility was the delivery entrance. While hotel security had cameras installed at the doors, they didn't check the delivery drivers coming and going from their property. None of the shop owners around had private security tapes pointing at the Paramount delivery entrance except one – a small… _gallery_. The penny dropped, rolled around several times and clattered loudly at Peter's feet. Peter loved smart.

"Oh God, El, please tell me you know the owner of the art gallery across the street."

El held up a small piece of paper and picked up her cell phone. She smirked at Peter.

"Francesco Sacchi. I bet he refused to give you anything without a warrant."

"He did. We're still waiting on a warrant. Judges don't like signing blanket orders; they want specifics."

Peter didn't want to remember the encounter with the stocky Italian. He hadn't understood half of it but it had been clear what he meant with _'bastardi'_.

"Don't take it personally, Peter. He thinks Americans have ruined his cultural legacy."

"What?"

"Oh, you know, the usual stuff… Our pizza is not thin enough, our coffee is too sweet and we call canned ravioli food."

"Okay, whatever… What makes you think he will help you out?"

"_Mah, credo che sia ovvio_… He thinks my name is Elisabetta. He almost cried when I told him I was marrying an American boy."

The way she stood there, her rich brown hair falling down in soft waves and curls… Peter could understand why Sacchi could have been fooled into thinking she had Italian blood. While El wasn't prone to outright lying to someone, he could see how she might not correct a misconception by a client to get a job. A small con to keep things smooth. No wonder she got along so well with Neal.

"El, have I ever told you how glad I am that you're one of the good guys?"

She blushed slightly.

"I wouldn't have gotten my American boy if I weren't, right?"

"You could have stolen the Hope Diamond and I would have married you. _After_ you completed your prison…"

She opened her mouth, visibly amused. "… And _you_ think _you would_ have been smart enough to put me there, Agent Burke?"

Peter snickered and shook his head. "You're right; you probably would have ended up with Mozzie and Neal on a whirlwind crime spree, leaving me completely in the dark."

"Well, then, Agent Peter Burke, I guess we probably should both be happy I'm one of the good guys." El sat down again, looking him over with a wicked expression on her face. "I'm going to call Francesco, okay? He owes me."

After ten minutes of Italian-filled chitchat, El hung up with a satisfied nod and told him that Francesco would drop by tomorrow with everything he could offer.

Peter had decided, with this small break in the case courtesy El, to set his files aside for the night. He was in the process of opening a bottle of wine for El when a knock on the door interrupted the almost-carefree evening. Peter opened the door and was surprised at his late visitor.

"Helene, what brings you here? Come in…"

Richter stepped through the door and opened her blue duffle coat but she never slipped it off.

"Sorry to interrupt at such a late hour, Peter, but I wanted to tell you personally."

The air was getting thin. Not good.

"What is it? Is it Neal? Have you-"

"No, sorry if you thought that… It has nothing to do with Caffrey. It's Green."

Peter felt his blood pressure rise at the name alone. What had this paper-pusher done now?

"Did he file a report against you? Because if he did, I have your back; you know that."

Richter dropped her gaze. "I'm afraid it's nothing of that kind. Green got orders from Lyon. According to their stupid statistics, we haven't shown enough results. They gave us two weeks before they send me and my people back to Europe."

"But… I won't be able to officially look for Neal if Interpol drops the case. It's not my jurisdiction…"

"You can still look for von der Hagen; it's basically the same case."

What was probably meant as encouragement landed with a thud in Peter's ears. Richter knew as well as he did that he would never have the resources he had now with Interpol once he was working a local white collar case.

"I can't find him without you. Not fast enough."

Richter looked up, and Peter tried to find the usual fierce glimmer in her eyes, but he couldn't. Helene's voice was a mirror to her eyes, without a lot of hope or excitement.

"We have two weeks, Peter. We better use them."


	18. Pages

_As always a huge thank you to all of you who are still reading this story and of course to my wonderful, fantastic, precious betas canadianscanget and mam711. And no thanks at all to Jeff Eastin who left me as a nervous wreck. Seriously, how are we supposed to get over this finale?_

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><p>Neal regarded the five Nibelungen manuscripts in front of him with an unusual whimsy. The manuscripts all had a smattering of noted errors throughout them, only not the same mistakes in each manuscript – signs that pointed to a transcript rather than an original work. The Nibelungen piece from the Codex Sangallensis in itself was a compilation of two other manuscripts, with parts hand-scribed by the same man. His transcription, the one with the distinctive form of the Z, was the closest thing literary scientists had found to the true original piece. While the writer of the German epic was lost to time, his original manuscript had become the Holy Grail of German literature. There was no student who hadn't thought about looking for it, no professor of literary studies who didn't dream about finding it – at least every once in a while.<p>

And now Neal was supposed to be the one to 'resurrect' the original from the three larger transcripts and the fragments that had all been stolen.

It was so absurd that he looked at Bishop and started laughing.

"You're joking, right? 'Cause you can't possibly be serious. My modern German is good enough to order Wiener Schnitzel but that's about it. I'm not good enough to write any compilation in Middle High German, let alone an epic masterpiece."

Bishop didn't even blink as he glared at Neal.

"I'm afraid you'll have to find a way to be good enough because you don't really have a choice. You'd prefer someone getting hurt?"

Neal continued shaking his head while he quickly walked over to the table, spotted some fabric gloves and put them on. Then he returned to the box with the manuscripts, took one of them out and gently opened it, touching as little parchment as necessary. He recognized it as the piece from Munich and carefully placed it on the table to get a better look. The text was written in half-uncial, a common script for the late 13th century when the manuscript had been written. Neal could read it without problem, but no matter how hard he tried, there was no comprehension, no meaning behind the words.

"I can't do this." It was barely a whisper.

Bishop gave no response, so Neal turned to face him – Bishop seemed unperturbed by Neal's lack of conviction in his own ability to forge anything. Bishop stood in exactly the same position as before, with exactly the same unyielding expression.

"I can't do this. I would, believe me, but even if I create a perfect manuscript, the text won't stand a close examination by experts."

Bishop smirked and walked over to him, studying the manuscript without much interest. Neal knew excitement about a piece of art; it didn't look like this.

"I don't think I have to remind you that I'm as interested in a good forgery as you are, probably more so. Fortunately, you're lucky because, well, we have an expert at our disposal. SAM!"

Bishop's yell made Neal step back defensively, which seemed to lighten his kidnapper's mood, as did the sound of the door opening. Neal recognized the guy he had thrown the wine bottle at in his apartment. He only gave him a quick glance before his attention was drawn to the woman he had grasped tightly by her upper arm.

"Anna…"

The huge man pushed her forward as if she were nothing more than a child; Anna stumbled but managed to keep herself from falling. She stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room between Bishop and the muscle-head. She no longer wore the tailored suit from the night she had been taken, but a crinkled polo shirt and jeans that were too big for her. Her hair was a complete mess. Neal would have thought that she looked fragile without her usual perfect style, if it wasn't for the grim expression on her face. Her gaze finally fell on Neal and her lips parted to say something, when Bishop chimed in.

"Now. Mr. Caffrey. Ms. von der Hagen. As you are already acquainted, I'm sure we will have no trouble with you two working together. Professor, given your expertise, I take it you'll have no problems dictating to Mr. Caffrey the precise words to use, right? I want a draft for the first page by tomorrow morning. Sam here will be right outside the door if you need anything. Enjoy your night."

He waved two fingers, both a goodbye and cynical salute, and left the room. Anna watched him go and continued to stare at the door until Neal stepped in her direction. She lifted her shoulders as if she was trying to hide herself and when she swiftly touched her face Neal realized she had to be crying.

Neal had seen Anna shed tears before, but it had never been a sign of weakness. That much he knew. She wasn't a damsel in distress; she was Lyssa, the goddess of wrath and rage herself. Every effort to comfort her right now would only fuel her anger and probably cost him his head. It was best to just distract her from her bruised ego.

"Did you hear him?"

She turned around and frowned. "What! _'Did you hear him?'_ That's the first thing you have to say to me? Neal, you have to work on your conversation skills. Working for the FBI is making you rusty."

He was relieved when her mouth curled into something very close to smiling. "No, that's not what I mean. He said he wants the draft for the first page. _Page_, as in book?"

She huffed and nodded, then walked over to the table with the open manuscript. "Sheets. Manuscripts don't have pages; they have sheets, except for-"

"…except for the Codex Sangallensis. I don't think I ever asked you why…"

Anna seemed impressed for a moment; maybe because Neal could still remember about the pagination, maybe because he was still interested in the history of the manuscripts.

"Ildefons von Arx… He was a novice at St. Gallen. Self-declared historian. In the late 18th Century he decided to paginate the codex. He figured all the sheets should be seen as their respective pages. Basically four pages per sheet like a newspaper. Oh, it's bad. Really bad. There are pages missing because he was tired or drunk or God knows what… Maybe it was too complicated for him to handle a sheet with a recto side and verso side and all that stuff but for whatever reason – he scribbled his page numbers in each corner and they've been referred to ever since. At least it helped us authenticate one of the fragments as part of the original Codex Sangallensis."

Neal actually had no difficulty understanding von Arx's motives. It was a mystery why codicologists complicated everything by counting sheets instead of pages, confusing themselves and the whole world alike with the face and the back side of a sheet, which then become the right-hand or left-hand pages in a book. But in the end he wasn't the one who had to work with those words; Anna did. And the way she talked about von Arx, as if there had never been a man more idiotic than the one who decided to paginate a manuscript... Anna passionately lambasting von Arx made Neal remember why he had fallen for her in the first place.

He smiled and looked her over. She looked exhausted. "Did they hurt you?"

"Nah. A few bruises, nothing more. What about you? You weren't moving when I last saw you."

How the same woman who abandoned him in Israel and killed an innocent man a few days ago could suddenly be compassionate always surprised him. She lifted her head and met his gaze. When he immediately broke eye contact she grabbed his arm.

"I do care about you. You should know that."

"And what does it change? You're like them, Anna. You get rid of anyone in your way, innocent bystander or not."

Anna released her grip and ran a hand through her hair. "Oh come on, who are you, Saint George?"

Neal was startled for a moment. "What?"

"Patron of the Boy Scouts. 'Cause that's how you act. Shall I give you a badge for following the morally-correct path or something? Let's face facts here – you can think what you want about me, but we're good together, and we need to be to get outa here alive. So cut the morality crap and be who you are – a talented con man and forger. Agreed?"

Neal didn't like to admit it, but Anna was right. For now there was nothing he could do other than to trust in her experience with medieval texts and his own experience in… copying other people's texts. He watched Anna carefully turn over the page; when he saw the glimmer in her eyes he remembered what he wanted to say before.

"Okay, let's start this once again… He referred to sheets as pages. He has no idea whatsoever; not about the manuscripts, not about their value… He's not interested in them."

"You think someone else is using Bishop as a front man?"

At several points, Bishop had almost made Neal believe that he was Oberon, but now Neal was sure he wasn't. You don't kidnap someone and force him to forge an original if you have no idea what it should look like.

"I think Bishop's been briefed. Whatever game Oberon is playing, he doesn't want to come out of the shadows."

Anna leaned against the table and thought about it for a moment. "Is this good or bad?"

"No idea. But it gives us time to pull something off that could give us an advantage. And in the meantime we do what he wants."

A collection of big metal boxes were the closest at hand and Neal decided to start there. Bishop had said they were filled with parchment. Neal lifted the cover then let it thump shut again when he realized it was not parchment, but only the supplies so they could produce it to the standards they needed for the forgery. He swallowed hard in an effort to ignore the sharp smell of blood and skin.

Anna, who had walked over to several smaller boxes and the one containing the manuscripts, looked up in surprise; she watched Neal wrinkle his nose.

"Hey, everything all right with you?"

Neal nodded but didn't want to open the boxes again. "Uhm, Anna? You don't have, by any chance, any idea of how to dehair skin, do you?"

Anna smirked and shook her head. Neal couldn't help feeling that she was amused about his disgust. She stood and pulled a lunellarium out of one of the smaller boxes she'd just opened. She handed the small semi-circular knife for dehairing skin over to him.

"Sorry, sweet thing. I'm gonna soak the quills and take a look at the text, see what you'll have to write. I'm afraid you'll have to take care of the parchment."

Neal took the knife and stepped in front of the box again. If Bishop wanted a draft by tomorrow morning, he probably wanted a 'page' within a day. By then, the parchment would have to be ready to write on, which unfortunately meant he had to start with it right now. He so should have listened to Peter and never gotten involved as David Hall in the first place.

At least it would have spared him the work that was about to follow. The main reason why anybody rarely forged medieval manuscripts was probably because the cost/benefit ratio didn't work out. You couldn't write on parchment that was over seven hundred years old and have your ink look aged as well. Therefore you had to use new parchment and age it after writing on it. And that was just the last part. Oberon had been kind enough to hand them skin already flayed and soaked; usually you had to do this on your own, as well as dehairing, framing, cutting, lining the sheets with a stylus, writing, binding... The list of the work steps you had to master to produce a good forgery was long. And that was only the parchment.

Neal couldn't say he hadn't been tickled by the thought of forging a manuscript before, and he could remember his own enthusiasm and ambition when he glanced over to the perfectly-shaped goose quills. But very soon he had found out that it wasn't just producing and aging parchment.

You'd have to be able to write in different hands because ancient pieces had never been written by one writer alone. The quill had to be cut and shaped perfectly; the writing itself had to have enough flaws not to look forced. And then of course the most important thing – the text would have to stand the close examination of linguists and literary scientists. Manuscripts weren't like paintings that could be tested with several chemicals. In the past, a lot of pieces had been destroyed in the process of authenticating them, so now scientists tried to do it with superficial characteristics only. They wouldn't add or take anything away from a valuable piece, and therefore they wouldn't find chemicals in the skin not supposed to be in parchment from the 12th century.

But who knew what would happen if a new Nibelungen manuscript popped up, let alone after the other ones had been stolen? Neal wondered if Oberon was really willing to take the risk and count on scientists not having the piece tested. It shouldn't be Neal's concern if his forgery would pass an examination or not, but he had to wonder anyways. He still hoped that Peter would find Anna and him before it got that far, catching Bishop and the man behind him in the process, but until then Neal would try the impossible and forge a whole book.

He opened the box with the skin and took a deep breath – time to let the nightmare begin.


	19. Valkyrie

I have no idea how many of you are still following this story and I am so sorry that I can't update any faster or even make the promise to do better in future. I've been having some health problems lately, nothing serious but enough to keep me from writing. So thanks to everybody who has patience with my. It's highly appreciated, as well as the help from my wonderful betas canadianscanget and mam711.

_Just to make it easier for you guys: Neal's been taken by Bishop, one of the thieves behind the Nibelungen heist. Bishop also holds Anna von der Hagen hostage. Together they are forced to forge an original while Peter and the task force got two weeks to come up with a proper lead. _

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><p>Four months.<p>

Four months and Peter wondered at which point he could have done more. Or if he still could do more right now. Little by little everything was going back to "normal" but something inside of Peter rebelled against the normality of his days. He wanted to keep going, like he did in the two weeks before the task force had been split up. The idea of how exhausted he'd been almost continually during those days made him cringe – as many all-nighters as possible, turning every stone, grasping every straw – but at least he had been able to work on the case he needed to solve so badly.

Helene still called every week. Keeping him in the loop. Peter wondered if she had permission to do so or if she was just doing him a favor. Then two weeks ago Hughes had told him that – with all due respect to the personal nature of the Nibelungen case – Peter wouldn't be able to go after thin air forever. Current cases needed to be prioritized and investigated. The Nibelungen case was now officially a cold case for the FBI.

So for now Peter sat at the table in his kitchen hoping to breathe a spark of life back into the file. He spared Elizabeth bringing his work on Neal's case home when she was around but on evenings like this, when she was out managing an event, he went through the information. The same unchanging information he had gone over and over repeatedly for the last four months, studying once again the reports he knew better than the back of his own hand.

At first he and Richter had been optimistic. The footage from the Italian gallery owner had shown a black Chevrolet Cruze driving away from the Paramount's delivery entrance. The driver had been identified as Thomas Bishop. He knew the route Bishop had taken; Richter's people had done an outstanding job tracking the sedan with traffic cameras and they had found the Cruze before the BOLO had brought any results. The red line that marked Bishop's way through the city showed no special pattern that could help in locating the second getaway car.

Peter got frustrated once again when he realized he was staring at nothing. He shoved the city map away and picked up the forensic reports and photographs from the Cruze. The Forensics team had taken several samples from the trunk. Peter didn't need the test results from the lab, though; they had already found fingerprints matching Neal's. So the call from a certain Dr. Moore, who had told Peter the hair and skin samples matched his missing consultant's DNA, had come as no surprise. The information that they had found blood on the zip-ties, had, on the other hand, been a surprise. Peter had barely been able to keep from punching a hole through something. Fortunately, he heard the reassurance from Dr. Moore that the blood probably came from a little cut or scratch. He'd laughed at himself then, of course; the zip-ties hadn't been cut – Neal must have opened them somehow. Not that it had given Peter any hope – Neal would have called long ago – but it helped a little to know that his partner obviously had been able to get out of his restraints on his own.

But all too quickly, every lead they might have had, every hope they had been fighting for, had been shattered within a few days.

Peter swallowed when the memory of the fight with Helene made his tongue dry again. He had dismissed her fears then but couldn't forget her words.

_"Wake up, Peter! Have you seen the Hudson lately? It's likely Bishop found out Neal's a snitch and dropped him in the river. Just because we didn't find his body… it… Well, it doesn't mean he's not dead. We should follow up on this as well."_

And she did. From then on the Swiss officers rarely did anything else but call hospitals and morgues.

_"White male_

_"5 ft 11_

_"Athletic_

_"Dark hair_

_"Blue eyes_

_"Wearing a black and white shirt with jeans."_

Peter had overheard the phone calls a few times and had cursed when he had found himself adding the well-known details in his mind.

_Without a high-tech tracking device that would make it so easy right now._

_Without his ridiculous hat_

_Without his classic suit_

_He probably doesn't feel comfortable in his clothes_

_No, he surely doesn't, because he feels uncomfortable if he just goes without his tie_

_Always be wary when he smiles_

_And be aware of his hands_

_And of his everything_

_Just ignore the swagger_

Peter took it as a good sign that a body matching Neal's description had never been found. He still let a clerk call the morgues and hospitals every other day. Just in case. Even though he refused to think about this as a possible scenario. The most likely thing was that Bishop needed Neal for something, and Anna von der Hagen as well, because they hadn't found her either.

Peter had gone through Anna's files repeatedly with a fine-toothed comb. He couldn't pin down when she had met Neal. Israel made sense but Peter couldn't know for sure if Anna was involved with the Antioch heist. Anna had a clean record and Neal had never mentioned any help with the pigeons.

It didn't help at all that Mozzie didn't know about Anna either. Peter got the feeling that he had once again veered down a dead end. He just hoped Mozzie had something they could work with. It made Peter curious that Mozzie had refused to tell him his news over the telephone. The agent checked his watch and found Neal's friend five minutes late. Unusual, but not too unusual for Mozzie. Peter wondered if he would get any sleep tonight and already knew the answer.

He was just filling up the green abomination that made heavenly coffee when he got interrupted by Mozzie's "code knocking".

Knock – knockknockknock knock – knock – knockknockknock knock – knock

Peter sighed heavily and opened the door. "Mozzie, that sounds nothing like Wagner…"

When Mozzie had told him that he would "knock" 'Die Walküre' from Wagner's opera 'Der Ring der Nibelungen', Peter couldn't keep his face straight and forgot to ask why they even needed a secret signal. He blamed Mozzie's usual paranoia, but now, on seeing the other man's nervous look, he wasn't so sure.

Mozzie stepped into the room and quickly closed the door behind him.

"When you didn't recognize the knock, why did you open, Suit? Are you insane?"

Right. Because Mozzie was the person to ask this question. Peter just shook his head and took a seat across from Mozzie, who had already made himself comfortable, in utterly relative terms of course, at the table. Peter didn't fail to see how lost Mozzie looked when he spotted the reports and photographs from the case. With one move Peter grabbed them and put them aside.

"Okay, Mozzie, what do you have?"

Mozzie nodded, still staring at the place where the photographs of the abandoned vehicle near the Hudson River had been. He finally snapped out of it and made eye contact with Peter.

"I found Alex."

"What? Where?"

"Mongolia."

Well, that certainly was a new one. When Mozzie hadn't been able to find anything on Bishop or von der Hagen, he had reached out to Alex. Without any success. Until now, it seemed.

"And?"

"She called in some favors in Europe. Looks like we have a hot lead."

Peter smiled and allowed himself to slump down in his chair. "This is the best news in weeks… What is it?"

Mozzie took off his glasses and polished them with such devotion that Peter knew he only did so to give his hands something to do.

"Thomas Bishop is a known alias of Tom O'Leary."

"Known alias?"

Mozzie nodded. "Yes, known on my side. O'Leary has a private security business in London."

Peter thought about how well prepared Bishop – O'Leary – had been when it came to any security measures. It made sense now. "Okay, so O'Leary knows how security works. But why the manuscripts? I mean, we know Oberon has a motive, right? Or at least we assume… How does this guy fit in?"

Mozzie put on his glasses again and shot him a questioning look. "You can never await the end of a story, can you? I bet you read the last page of a book first."

"I… What does that have to do with the case?"

"Nothing." Mozzie leaned forward secretively. "But our Professor does."

"Von der Hagen? How?"

Mozzie lifted his hands now, gesturing wildly while he talked. "Listen, Suit, listen carefully. Anna von der Hagen was once called to work on the 'Tower Fechtbuch', a German manuscript at the British Museum. She had a whole team on the project and her own lab for research. You can guess now as to who set up the security for that lab."

"O'Leary. So, Anna works with O'Leary, aka Bishop, who later becomes the prime suspect in the thefts of the Nibelungen manuscripts. And by sheer coincidence Anna happens to be the expert for those pieces and an _alleged_ fence for stolen goods."

Mozzie listened to Peter and nodded without surprise. Apparently he had come to the same conclusions. "She works as an expert on one of the manuscripts when it turns up, and it's stolen once again on her watch. Then she gets kidnapped after she shows up at Neal's, who himself walks into a trap a short time later."

At one point Peter remembered Neal hadn't hesitated to think of Anna as a possible Oberon; only after her abduction did he have doubts. Could it be? He was lost in his thoughts until Mozzie interrupted him.

"You know, Suit, _'__When everything seems to be connected to one person it's very likely that everything's connected to that person.'_"

Peter looked at Mozzie suspiciously. "Do you have a quote for every situation?"

Mozzie nodded and shot Peter a content smile. "Indeed."

"Okay. Who said it?"

Mozzie's smile turned into barely-contained disappointment.

"You did. At Neal's trial."


	20. Priceless Hands

_a/n: I bet you didn't think this was going to happen anymore, right? Well, I'm sorry for the long delay but life has its way to keep you from doing fun things. Not even sure if you are still interested in this story but I'll be happy to finish it for you anyways… A huge thanks, as always, to my wonderful betas: canadianscanget who always tries to work hard to make this story work despite the fact that she has really enough going on in her own life; and of course mam711 who has probably the best eyes for mistakes in English texts I've ever seen; there are only so many people who get the English comma rules…_

_Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. And let me hear from you if you're still with me on this ride. And just to make it a little easier for you:_

_**What happened before**: Peter and Neal were part of an international task force to find six stolen manuscripts, all connected to the Nibelungen manuscripts who contained the famous German epic. Neal found out the hard way that an a-little-more-than-that associate of his, Anna von der Hagen – a professor and specialist for medieval manuscripts – is somehow a key part of what is going on. When she was kidnapped, Neal went undercover to meet their main suspect, Thomas Bishop, who took him hostage as well and left Peter and Interpol with nothing but empty hands. Now, four months later, Neal is still Bishop's prisoner. He is forced to forge a manuscript that should be able to pass as the original Nibelungen manuscript that was lost in time. Anna von der Hagen is compiling the text, using the original manuscripts as her source, while Neal writes down word after word to satisfy Bishop or rather the man behind him – Oberon, the unknown mastermind who seemed to be the mastermind behind the heists and the real reason why Neal was held like an animal in a cage… If you have further questions, don't hesitate to ask._

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><p>Opening his eyes burned like fire and made a torture out of every morning. Neal hated opening his eyes, hated that another day without sunlight had begun, hated that he would once again stare at ink and paper for countless hours until his eyes ached and seemed as dry as the parchment beneath his hands.<p>

When Bishop's rough voice startled him awake this morning, Neal moaned and instantly started to rub and blink to ease his pain, but his vision stayed blurry long enough to irritate Bishop. Bishop's voice again grated into Neal's exhausted consciousness. It was the excuse Neal needed to be pissed. He shouldn't have allowed himself to hiss at Bishop but before he could think it through, Neal had told the other man to go to hell.

Neal opened his eyes just for a moment to see Bishop squint and stroll over to him.

"What did you just say?"

Although Bishop seemed calm, Neal expected a beating. Big Sam outside seemed to be waiting for this opportunity anyway. The way the muscle looked at Neal made him uneasy; apparently Sammy was still upset over the wine bottle Neal had corked him with at June's. To Neal's surprise Bishop didn't call for his watchdog, nor did he hit Neal himself. He just stood there, right in front of him, and waited for an answer. Neal sat up, the stinging in his eyes still an annoyance that seemingly "blinded" him to rational decision-making and he made his second mistake within minutes and repeated his words.

"I said …" Neal scowled up at Bishop. "… that you can go to hell and write your stupid manuscript yourself."

Neal couldn't help but to liken Bishop's face to cold white marble. It was more than just his face freezing for a moment; it was as if there was no soul in the man whatsoever. Neal shuddered when Bishop turned around. He was at Anna's bed faster than Neal would have thought possible and hauled her up by the arm. She yelped and struggled against Bishop, who was taller than Neal, maybe even taller than Peter, muscular, well trained, and who had his bodyguard no more than a few steps away. All things Neal chose to completely ignore as he moved to rescue Anna from Bishop's grasp.

The effort was in vain; Sammy had him pushed back on the bed before he could blink. Neal's second doomed rescue attempt found him pinned to the floor with Sammy's right knee driven between his shoulder blades. His stomach churned with the mix of Anna's curses, the pain in his eyes and the unyielding pressure on his back. He watched through a haze as Bishop hustled Anna out of the room, leaving Neal alone with Sam. He cringed, waiting for a blow that never came. Sammy just continued to press agonizingly into his back until Bishop returned. Alone.

Neal was dragged to his feet by one arm, which Sam kept in a tight grip behind Neal's back. For now he chose to keep calm, mostly because any struggle would inflict pain on his tightly wrenched shoulder within seconds. Instead of struggling, he glared at Bishop, who stood only a few feet away with his irritating smile plastered on his face once again.

"Caffrey, listen… I've told you once not to pull such crap on me and I know for a fact that you're a smart guy. Why is it so incredibly hard for you to understand how this works? I don't need to hurt you to cause you damage. You should consider this day a fair warning."

The blinding pain returned but this time his eyes teared with the pain as he pulled against Sammy's grip. It was almost a strange release from the grinding boredom of his captured existence over the last four months. His pain only served to broaden Bishop's smile, a smile that now looked more like the bared teeth of a rabid dog. Neal hated himself for throwing Anna to this dog, hated that he had run out of options, hated that Bishop held all the cards. All the cards, except maybe one.

"You know I can't continue without her. No way. I can't do a compilation of the texts myself," he half screamed through gritted teeth.

It wasn't even a lie. Neal's German skills had improved over the last months but he was still far from the point where he could have written an epic on his own.

"Oh, but you're not gonna to work on the book today."

Neal frowned. He hadn't expected that answer. "What? But…"

Bishop walked over to the work table and ran his hands over the tools and supplies Neal had grown so familiar with: the parchment so delicate that he touched it as little as necessary; iron gall ink with the strange smell – barely noticeably metallic; the quills with curved sides and flat tips. He could only write in downward strokes because not until the fifteenth century had monks learned to split the tip of the nib in a way that made upwards strokes possible. The more he wrote, the more his shoulder ached – he had to hold the quill with only three fingers, his arm suspended above the parchment, to get the pressure right and keep the ink from smearing. Five letters by five letters because it was the exact number of letters he could write without dipping his quill. Always five letters. Ten thousand lines. In a language he didn't know.

Bishop's fingers touching the things Neal had been so carefully working with for the last four months brought an unexpected anger to him. His sudden involuntary movement towards the long table brought a quick gasp of breath as Sammy pushed his arm up tighter. Bishop turned and grinned.

"You know, having you here is a risk. Keeping you alive is a risk. One we are willing to take, of course, because your talents should make us filthy rich. And sure, you have quite the reputation. But the fact is, we don't know. We were going to schedule some sort of test anyway but because of your little… tantrum… now seems as good a time as any. Besides, the professor will be otherwise occupied for a while yet."

Neal's skin prickled at Bishop's tone. He had no doubt that Anna would suffer because of his stupid mistake. Unfortunately, he'd never been good at keeping his mouth shut when he was either tired or annoyed. He was like a kid that couldn't stay seated even though he knew he was headed straight for disaster.

"Bishop, please… Anna didn't do anything, right? It was me. Just… let us continue with the manuscript. I promise you, it's flawless. Everything I do is."

Bishop shook his head with an amused expression.

"Not that flawless considering they caught you. But the damage is already done; you need to learn that you can't worm your way out of everything in your life, Mr. Caffrey."

God, he was a slow learner with some things; over and over he managed to get those closest to him hurt. Neal chided himself for his overly cocky arrogance; talented yes, but with a mind that often reacted too quickly without considering all the eventual consequences, especially those that affected others around him. Neal was helpless to change Anna's fate this day, helpless to change any course of action that Bishop chose. The other man walked over to the box that held the original manuscripts and pulled out what Neal identified as the Viennese Parcival manuscript. Bishop carefully put it down on the working table.

"You will forge this. Today. I want this finished by ten."

It was a blunt demand that Neal knew would be hard to meet, even if it was something he nonetheless had to accomplish. But the con man inside him needed to know something first.

"Why? Why this one?"

Bishop surprised him by giving him a straight answer.

"To send it back. If this passes as the original, you live, and we let you continue your work on the Nibelungen piece. And of course, as additional incentive we'll have people waiting for Ms. Ellis the day the information of a forgery surfaces. And then we'll go through our list until you perfect your talents. Are we clear?"

Neal felt like he was drowning in numbness when he tried to understand the degree of Bishop's threat. He was unable to say anything in response. Bishop nodded and Sammy released him with a forceful shove towards the table. Neal watched in silence as the two men exited the room, a room that soon reverberated with an empty hollowness save for the pounding of his own heart. He rubbed at his throbbing shoulder and wrist, the left one, as no doubt Sam was well aware of Bishop's plans. Then he set to work on the forgery that had to be his best at any cost. Maybe if it had just been Anna he would have thought, for just a moment, of running, leaving Anna to her destiny like she had left him to his so many years ago. It was something he would never do, couldn't do. Even if he could run, could escape – and he had tried, and tried again – his best chance of keeping everyone he cared about safe, everyone he was willing to give his life for safe, was by staying put and being the absolute best at forging the perfect manuscript.

Neal was barely able to keep his hands from shaking when he started to work on the newest manuscript. He missed Anna's hands. Every few hours she would sit down next to him and start to knead his arms and shoulders. At first it had felt strange, an artificial closeness that had almost made him draw back. But besides the hot showers Bishop granted them, it was the best way to relax his muscles and keep him working. And even when he had a hard time admitting it – because Anna still was cold-blooded, and Anna still had killed a man, and Anna still couldn't be trusted – he was grateful for her presence. And only now, when she wasn't there, did he realize how much she still meant to him. It wasn't a romantic feeling, not at all, but some strange feeling that only came from people sharing some shades of gray with each other. No matter how hard he tried to despise Anna, he couldn't. Maybe he should introduce her to Keller. They would make a nice couple.

After seemingly endless hours of work, Neal stopped to cut yet another quill. The "Z" that made the writer of the piece so special wore the material down, but Neal didn't dare shape the quill differently to make it easier for himself. The writer was famous, and his significant "Z" would be the first step in authenticating the piece. Neal pushed himself away from the table and stretched his arms back. The clicking and popping of his shoulders reminded him of just how still and steady he had been sitting for far too long. Break time, which really equated to figuring out how much material he was going to need, how much parchment and ink, until he would have this piece of work finished. He cut several quills at once and filled a few of the small inkwells with the dark fluid in the bigger glasses, only to keep himself from writing for a few moments longer, and to relax his shoulders and arms as long as he could. To complete the forgery was a tough job to do in only one day, but manageable. Neal remembered a story Anna had told him when they had started on the Nibelungen manuscript. He had complained about the amount of work he was supposed to get done every day and she just had laughed and told him about Gisela, the mother of Henry the Black, and Empress of Germany.

About a thousand years ago, Gisela announced her planned arrival at the Abbey of St. Gall. She was known as a collector of manuscripts, if you wanted to put it that way. You could also say she was a thief. At that time the Abbey was in possession of some expensive books, mainly Psalters and codices. With Gisela's visit impending, the librarians of St. Gall started copying everything that seemed of importance to them, which included a Psalter written by Notker Labeo. Like every other Psalter, the book was filled with psalms and other clerical texts but unlike the common volumes, this one was famous for its rich illustrations. Working like slaves, the monks managed to copy the whole book, about 15,000 lines, within two weeks. It turned out to be the right decision. The copy was the one that lasted through time while the original vanished under mysterious circumstances when Gisela left the Abbey.

Neal knew St. Gall had had a lot of monks working night and day on this task but it still gave him some comfort to know others had been forced into the same ordeal he now faced. And it definitely helped him finished the Parcival fragment in time. When Bishop came back at ten o'clock, he took the piece, smiled and left again only to bring back Anna minutes later. Her eyes were red-rimmed and there was a dark bruise on her cheek. Neal bit his lower lip when he saw her swallow down her tears when she couldn't stand his eyes on her. He wanted to hug her, to give her some comfort of any kind but she just shook her head and went to bed in silence. Neal did the same, the words unspoken between Anna and him wearing him down.

The silence between them continued over the next few days, while they were working on the Nibelungen manuscript again. Neal had no idea if he had passed Bishop's test with the Parcival. He had to hope for the best; he couldn't stand the thought of Sara getting hurt. It was hard enough to watch the bruise on Anna's cheek changing color every day. Neal knew she blamed him, even when she didn't say it out loud. It was the way she kept her distance that gave her away. She kept her massages short and her chats shorter.

On the fourth day after Anna had gotten punished for his mistake and he'd had to forge the Parcival fragment, Bishop entered the room in the early afternoon with two glasses and a bottle of champagne. He smiled as he put everything down in front of Neal.

"Mr. Caffrey, I'm happy to give you this as a mark of recognition. Your manuscript passed as the original. You and the Professor enjoy the drink and take the day off. Congratulations. And my apologies for even thinking of doubting your abilities."

Bishop left with a wave of his hand and Neal watched Anna relax. He started to wonder if it wasn't so much reproach that had caused her to keep her distance, but the fear of what might come if Neal failed the test. She turned around, opened the bottle, and filled both glasses with the sparkling golden liquid.

"Neal, I've always said it and I'll say it again." She toasted at him and sipped her champagne before she continued. "Your hands, my dear, are priceless."


End file.
